Snow White and Her Prince Charming
by Yanx's Pen
Summary: The Muggle Studies Professor wishes to have the students act in the play: Snow white and Her Prince Charming. The twist is that all the magic in the fairytale really happens. When Hermione gets poisoned by the apple, who will her Prince Charming be?
1. Git

_**A**_**/N: Ah! Another new one! The first chapter isn't much – it's sort of an introductory chapter, a prologue if you will. So, given that, it's pretty short.**

-----------------------------------------------------------GIT--------------------------------------------------------------

As they made their way down to the Three Broomsticks, Hermione linked her arms through Harry's and Ron's, a warm smile on her face. "You know what I love most about this time of year?" she asked her two best friends.

"The fact that we get almost everything at half price?" Ron asked her, a satisfied grin sporting his face.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "_No. _The warm, festive season! It's so ... jolly."

Harry raised his eyebrows at her. "Sorry, but did you just say _jolly_?"

Hermione laughed, and the three of them trudged through the many levels of snow. It was Christmas, and Hogsmeade was flocked with many wizards and witches. And Ron was right: almost all the shops had their goods at half price. There were choirs assembled at various points, singing and humming Christmas melodies. Here and there, laughter filled the air, and the gleeful smiles of their fellow classmates could be seen all around them. All in all, the atmosphere was _glowing_.

They finally reached their destination, and Hermione awkwardly avoided the mistletoe hanging from the door pane. Ron looked the other way, pretending not to notice. Harry, on the other hand, whistled a tune, trying to hide his discomfort. The ghost of the awkward, but friendly break-up between Hermione and Ron still followed them; it would be a while before it would disappear.

It wasn't that Ron did something to offend Hermione. It's just that they decided that they couldn't be more than _just friends_. The shift from practically brother and sister to boyfriend and girlfriend was, in one word, _awkward_. They called it quits, and resumed their former relationship, but, as already mentioned: ghosts don't disappear quickly.

The Three Broomsticks was packed. The air buzzed with the chatter of the customers. Hermione led the way to an empty table right at the back, and the three had to weave in between people (Harry's foot got stomped on) and strange creatures before finally arriving at their table. They sat down, and in unison let out a long breath.

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed. "It's more packed than usual! Why is that, I wonder?"

Hermione and Harry took in their surroundings. Hermione nodded. "It's because they're not afraid anymore, Ron. Voldemort has finally been defeated; his Death Eaters have either disappeared off the face of the earth or given themselves in. What could these people possibly be in danger of?"

"Thanks to Harry, here!" Ron said, clapping Harry on the back.

Harry rubbed at the spot, and said, "Well, if it weren't for you two, I'd probably be dead by now..."

Hermione sighed. "You're too modest, Harry."

Ron stuck out his chest. "I can also be modest sometimes."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Like now, you mean?"

Hermione stood up. "I'm going to get our drinks. Three butterbeers?"

Ron and Harry nodded, and resumed their friendly bickering. Hermione shook her head, amused, as she made her way to the bar. She almost regretted going as many people kept on bumping into her in their haste to greet long lost friends or hurry out back into the cold.

Hermione was rubbing her shoulder timidly by the time she arrived at the bar. She collapsed on the stool, and grumbled about packed bars.

"Don't complain!" Madam Rosmerta's voice barked. Hermione jumped, and turned to face the barwoman.

Hermione smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Madam Rosmerta!"

Madam Rosmerta smiled, "Not to worry, dear. But The Three Broomsticks has never been so busy before! Never mind the noise and the claustrophobia!"

Hermione laughed, and placed her order. She drew patterns on the bar table in front of her as she waited for their beverages. She glanced around her and got her second shock for the day. Not even a foot away from her sat Draco Malfoy, aimlessly swirling his butterbeer with a spoon. His eyes were cast downward, his mouth wasn't even turned down in its usual sneer or smirk. His pale fingers drummed a soft beat on the bar table.

Feeling her gaze on him, Draco looked up and met Hermione's eyes. Hermione quickly looked away, acting as if she hadn't been staring at him. Madam Rosmerta gave Hermione the three glasses of butterbeer, and Hermione accepted them with a smile. She turned to go, and she heard Malfoy say not unkindly in a sharp tone, "I don't need your pity, Granger."

She stopped short, but didn't turn around. He must have read more in her stare than she had thought. She didn't reply; instead she walked away, muttering a non-spill spell on the glasses. True, she did pity him, and for good reason, too.

"Ah! There she is!" Ron exclaimed as Hermione plopped herself on her chair, distributing their drinks across the three of them. "Do you even know how parched I am?" he enquired of her.

"When aren't you?" Hermione sarcastically asked. "Listen," she said to them on a more serious note. "Guess who I saw now?"

Harry raised his eyebrows expecting an answer.

"Malfoy," Hermione said in an undertone.

"Git," Ron scoffed.

"He looked really down, though," Hermione said.

Ron pushed his now empty glass aside, and shrugged his shoulders. "What do you expect, Hermione? _Both _his parents turned themselves in to the Ministry, so now they're sitting in Azkaban. You can't blame the bloke for _looking down_."

"Yeah, but they're not going to be in there forever, right?" Harry queried. "Wasn't there something in the Prophet about that?"

Hermione nodded. "They weren't exactly on Voldemort's side ... at the very end. They didn't fight _for_ him. But," she said, sighing, "they're still marked Death Eaters, so they'll serve a sentence of about ten to fifteen years."

Harry whistled. Ron just looked off into the distance.

Hermione interpreted his look correctly. "Ron, how can we tell who's good or bad? Snape was a good man – " she cut herself off, shooting a look at Harry. The subject of Severus Snape was still a sore one for him. "-maybe Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were good people, too?"

Ron scoffed.

Harry said quietly. "She's right, Ron. They were both capable of love. Familial love. That completely overrides Voldemort's principles."

Ron didn't say anything for a while, and he considered Harry and Hermione's words. He sighed and said, "Don't care. Malfoy is still a git to me."

And at that moment, Draco Malfoy, the "git", walked out of the Three Broomsticks, his head ducked, and a green and silver scarf tucked neatly around his neck, the strong wind tangling his pale blonde hair.

-------------------------------------------------------to be continued---------------------------------------------------------

_**A/**_**N: See? Told you it was short! I was thinking of making my next chapters longer – a couple of reviewers for War of Words complained that the chapters were too short. From this chapter, it's difficult to tell what's happening, and the direction that the story is going in, but either way –**

**Let me know what you think!**

**Review :D**


	2. Merry Christmas

_**A/**_**N: Here's another chapter – as by now, I'm pretty sure you've noticed ;) Warning: not **_**much**_** happens in this chapter – I'm just introducing the characters a bit. Nevertheless, enjoy :D**

-------------------------------------------------------MERRY CHRISTMAS-----------------------------------------------------

Hermione woke up bright and early, jumping out of bed. She almost regretted it when the heap of presents that was at the foot of her bed fell onto the floor. Sighing, she went to pick it up, her back facing the door. At that moment, her door banged open, connecting with her behind, causing the presents that she had collected to topple out of her hands and back to the floor. She rubbed her behind, wincing.

She whirled around to glare at her intruder, her hands on her hips. Her eyes flashed. "What don't you understand about the word _privacy_, Malfoy?"

Draco Malfoy ignored her comment and offered her a sheet of parchment. Hermione didn't notice how his gaze slid briefly to her big pile of presents and then back to her. He said in an emotionless tone, "McGonagall just owled this to me. She said we are to meet in her office this evening regarding Head duties for the holiday." He waited for her to take the sheet of paper from his hand.

Hermione blew at a piece of strand hair that kept falling into her eyes. "And I suppose it didn't occur to you to _slip_ this piece of paper under my door? You had to deliver it yourself? Is this your idea of a Christmas present, Malfoy?" Nonetheless, she took the parchment from him, reading through it briefly.

Draco straightened at her words and walked out, not caring to answer her questions. It was only after he had left when Hermione realize the impact her words might have had on him. Did his family usually do something on Christmas? Perhaps that's why he was staying at the castle for Christmas – most of his family were either in prison, or worse ... dead.

Hermione shuddered, and bent down to retrieve the presents, the bruise on her behind forgotten.

She sat on the edge of her bed, opening her presents. The first one she opened was wrapped in bright red paper. A soft maroon garment fell out onto her lap. She held it up, and discovered it was a hand-knitted jersey from Mrs Weasley. Hermione smiled when she noticed the image of the parchment and quill on the front.

The second one – a book by the feel of it – was from Ron. Curiosity triggered, Hermione unwrapped the present. Ron giving her a book? How ... extraordinary. She giggled when she saw the title of the book,_ The_ _Male Species for Dummies_. Wondering where Ron would've picked up a Muggle book from, she shoved it aside and opened her other presents, revealing an array of things: a state-of-the-art quill set from Harry, clothes from Ginny, and assorted delectable items from Honeydukes from her other friends.

Smiling, she made her way to the bathroom, waving her wand so that her room tidied itself up, and all the wrapping was deposited in the rubbish bin, and her presents arranged themselves neatly on her table.

Ten minutes later, she was out of the bathroom and making her way out of the common room that she and Draco shared as Head Girl and Head Boy. She would've missed him if he hadn't coughed slightly. He was sitting on the couch in front of the fire, a book in his hand.

"Aren't you going to do anything today?" she regretted the words the moment they were out of her mouth and silently cursed herself.

Not looking up from his book, he said, "Like what? Having snow fights with my friends? Friends that aren't even there? Or perhaps walking out into Hogsmeade having people stare at me with pointed fingers? No, I'll rather pass. Now, if you'll excuse me..." and he got up, gathering his books, and walked straight to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. If he didn't want anyone to pry or worry, why would he even care to shed any light on his situation at all? He certainly enlightened her with more information than required. Sighing, she hopped out of the portrait making her way to Gryffindor tower.

Upon her arrival, she was greeted by a whirlwind of hugs from Ginny, Lavender, and Parvati. "Merry Christmas!" they chorused.

Hermione laughed and returned the festive greeting. "Thanks for the presents! I love the clothes, Ginny! And the chocolates? I'll have to hide those from Ron!" The girls laughed at this. "Speaking of," Hermione said, "where is he? And Harry?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "It's a Saturday morning, Hermione. Where do you think? And also, half the boys played Exploding Snap last night – a very _loud_ one might I add – that carried straight into the morning. "

Lavender and Parvati nodded in disapproval.

Ginny, noticing this, snorted. "Oh, come off it Lavender. You enjoyed watching your love interest playing such an ... exciting game."

Hermione's face furrowed in confusion. "I beg your pardon, but did you just say 'love interest'? _Who?_"

Ginny wiggled her eyebrows mischievously. "Wouldn't you like to know." And before Hermione could make any more objections, Ginny skipped out of the Common Room.

Hermione shook her head and then said to her other friends, "Right, well, I'm heading up to wake the boys up. Have a nice Christmas!" She bounded up the stairs that led to Ron and Harry's room.

"_Alohomora,_" she whispered, pointing her wand at the locked door when it didn't open 'manually'. She wondered why the boys had locked their room door. The door gently slid open, a slight creaking noise escaping from the hinges. Hermione softly closed the door behind her and tiptoed inside. She giggled at Ron's ballerina pose on his bed, and picked up one of the parcels at the bottom of his bed and whirled it at his head. _Thunk_.

"NO! I DON'T WANT SPIDERS!" Ron yelled as he got up with a start, clutching the sheets close to his chest. Bewildered, he looked around him and spotted Hermione doubled over in laughter.

"You-" Hermione said, gasping for breath, "-are absolutely _hilarious_, Ronald, do you know that?"

Ron grumbled incoherently.

"What's that?" Hermione asked.

"I _said_," Ron muttered irritably, "why do you _always_ have to wake me up like that? Why don't you do that to Harry? It's bloody annoying."

"Well," Hermione said teasingly, "Harry's reactions aren't as half-good as yours. And I had no idea that you still had a fear for spiders – even after the War!"

"Shut it, Hermione," Ron said touchily.

Hermione knew when not to overstep the line. She said brightly, "Why don't you open your presents, Ronald?"

Ron looked at her, confused. "Presents for what?"

Hermione threw her hands in the air, and sat next to him on the bed. "For _Christmas_, Ron!"

Ron's eyebrows shot up, and a grin spread across his face. "Oh! Right!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Merry Christmas."

Ron ignored her sarcasm. "Oy," he said to Harry's sleeping figure. "Wake up," he said as he tossed a present at Harry to jolt him awake. Unfortunately, he missed. Ron cursed, and was about to pick up another present, when Harry said, "Good thing I didn't make you Chaser. Your aim is pathetic." Even though Harry's back was facing them, they could still hear the amusement in Harry's voice.

Hermione laughed. "We didn't know you were awake, Harry!"

Harry rolled over to face them, grabbing his glasses from the pedestal next to him. "I've been awake since the time Hermione unlocked the door. I didn't want to interrupt your bickering."

Hermione sighed. "Merry Christmas, Harry."

Harry grinned. "Merry Christmas, Hermione." He bent forward to get his presents, and leaned back against his headboard, and started unwrapping his gifts. Ron was almost done with his.

Something Harry had said triggered something in Hermione's memory. "Harry, why is it that the door to this room is _locked?_"

Ron had just opened another gift of his – a large box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans – and was munching through its contents, when he decided to answer Hermione's question. "Becaw o' Lahender," he said around a mouthful of beans, blushing slightly.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Because of Lavender?" she clarified. Ron nodded. Hermione looked between Harry and Ron. "Care to explain?"

Ron was about to explain further when Hermione held up a hand. "I rather you not, Ronald," she said, wiping bits of food off her hand-knitted jersey. "You're getting beans all over me." Ron shrugged.

"The thing is," Harry began, a smile on his face, "you know that..._problem_ we had in sixth year?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "We had many _problems_ in sixth year, Harry. Could you be more specific?"

Harry shifted so that he was facing her. He hadn't unwrapped all his presents yet. "Does the term 'Won-Won' ring a bell somewhere?"

Comprehension dawned upon Hermione, and she recalled what Ginny had said. Her mouth dropped open, and she whipped her head around to face Ron. "Lavender is infatuated with you? _Again_?"

Ron placed his hand over his heart, feigning hurt. "No need to sound surprised, Hermione. It's pretty understandable. I mean, I _did_ help defeat Voldemort, you know." He sniffed haughtily.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "As did half the school, and you don't find Lavender falling head over heels for Neville."

Ron said, swallowing down the last bean in the last packet, "Well, point is, it's bloody annoying. She tried following Harry and me up here around two o' clock this morning!" Ron shook his head, as if he still couldn't believe it.

Harry nodded. "Which explains the locked door," he told Hermione.

"You two are unbelievable," she said, shaking her head.

Ron looked puzzled. "Oh yeah? How do you figure that?"

Hermione sighed. "I'm sure she knows how to unlock a locked door using magic, Ron."

"Well at least she'll get the idea that she's not supposed to be up here," he said, indignantly. "Which brings us back to ... Why are _you_ here?"

"To wish you a merry Christmas, of course!"

Harry smiled. "Maybe we should head down to Hogsmeade again? It should be fun."

Hermione grimaced. "Sorry, Harry. I've got castle patrol with Malfoy the whole day. Students are acting quite wild."

She saw their crestfallen faces. "But we could have some fun in the morning! I'm sure he won't mind."

Ron rolled his eyes. "That git is not the boss of you, Hermione."

"Yes, but –"

"Why don't you wait for Ron and I to get ready, and we'll meet you down in the Great Hall?" Harry interrupted – he could feel the argument that was about to brew between Hermione and Ron.

Hermione stood up. "Fine," she said. She walked to their door, and just as she was about to open it, she turned around and said teasingly, "Hope you liked my presents!" She knew they had forgotten to open hers.

Ron and Harry's eyes widened as they realized this. "I completely forgot, Hermione!" they said together. They rushed to open the present that she gave them: the latest broom servicing kit.

Ron grinned. "This is _fantastic_, Hermione! I lost my old one!"

And from Harry, "And _my_ old one is finished. Thanks a lot, Hermione!"

Hermione shook her head, wondering what on earth it was about Quidditch that made her friends sound pathetically mad. "You're welcome," she intoned, and left the room, leaving them to marvel over the fact that their broom servicing kits won't ever run out.

She hurried down to the Great Hall, and was just about to open the big doors, when someone _else_ opened it from the inside. The door slid open, hitting Hermione roughly on the shoulder.

"Ow!" she complained, rubbing her shoulder. She looked up to confront her assailant and found herself staring into emotionless silver eyes. She sighed in annoyance. "Malfoy, what is it with you and doors?"

And, in typical Draco Malfoy fashion, he chose not to reply and graciously swept passed her. His actions caused a bomb to start ticking in Hermione's head. She called out to him, her hand holding onto the door to keep it from closing, "And why is it that you refuse to talk to me?"

Malfoy kept on walking. Hermione let the door go, so that it slid back into its place, and rushed after him. She grabbed his arm, aiming to turn him around to face her. "Hey, I'm _talking_ to you."

Malfoy stiffened at the contact. "Granger," he said quietly. "Get your hands _off_ me."

The venom that seeped through his voice startled Hermione. She let go of his arm immediately. She said, her voice still strong and clear, "I would just like to know why you don't _talk_. I mean, Head duties ... that's perfectly fine. But we need to communicate with each other _effectively_ so that things can run smoothly."

Malfoy turned around to face her. His height was quite intimidating to Hermione, so she had to step back so that she could look at him properly. "Are you quite done with your little tirade?" he asked.

Hermione wanted to shake her head no, but chose not to say anything. She crossed her arms over her chest instead.

Draco replied, "I don't _want_ to talk about anything else, Granger. I don't want ..." he trailed off, his eyes burning slightly. Hermione found little falsehood in his words. The burning left his eyes, and non-emotion slid back into place. "I just don't want to. Good morning." And he swept off again.

Hermione was a little puzzled, but she ignored her puzzlement and called out to him again, "Listen, I won't be able to assist with patrols this morning. I promised Harry and Ron that we'd do something. For Christmas. Is that alright?"

Malfoy turned around, and looked at her, a sneer on his face. "What is it to me that you made _promises?_ Go play with your friends, Granger."

His voice was filled with such contempt that Hermione just nodded, choosing not to reply, and turned her back on him.

She would enjoy her morning with Harry and Ron. It didn't matter if Draco Malfoy seemed as if his soul had been sucked out of him. Yes, a "merry" Christmas indeed.

------------------------------------------------------to be continued----------------------------------------------------------

_**A/**_**N: Hope that wasn't too uneventful. I'm trying not to rush into the plot too quickly. I'm trying to make events unfold gradually. So even though you might be a **_**little**_** confused about what's happening with Draco, your confusion will disappear in the chapters soon to come!**

**Please review! Tell me what you think :D**


	3. Moaning Myrtle

_**A/**_**N: Alright, so this chapter is a little shorter than the last, but if I had to extend it, things wouldn't have made sense! Please enjoy**

-----------------------------------------------------MOANING MYRTLE-------------------------------------------------------

The Christmas holidays spun by in a blur, and before the Hogwarts students knew it, school had commenced. The professors were piling on the work, giving the students stacks of essays, revision exercises, new spells and new potions ... everything. Countless students were stressed about the final exams coming up in five months.

One student in particular was _especially_ stressed...

Hermione sat in a secluded spot in the library, biting the end of her quill, lost in thought. Which direction should she take to the six-foot essay Slughorn had so kindly given them? Should she start with a dramatic introduction, or should she just keep it straight to the point? She narrowed her eyes as she considered her options. Finally coming to a decision, she chose the second option, and began to write at lightning speed, tapping her foot on the carpet as she went along.

What felt like ten minutes later, Madam Pince announced, "Five minutes until the library closes. Five minutes."

Hermione's head shot up. Five minutes? She glanced at her watch. Where had the time gone? Her essay was almost done, just 2 feet more to complete. Hermione heaved a deep sigh – looks like she'd have to finish it off in her room. She gathered her things together, almost dropping her open bottle of ink – shoved everything into her bag, and walked out of the library, waving a hearty goodbye to Madam Pince.

She decided to take a different route. It was when she was walking down a corridor that she heard quiet sobs. She spun her head around, trying to find out where the soft weeping was coming from. When she thought she had it, she walked towards the source, hesitantly. She came to an abrupt stop when she found herself outside Moaning Myrtle's out-of-order bathroom. Hermione heaved a deep sigh. What could Myrtle be crying about now? She bordered on leaving Myrtle undisturbed and carrying on to the Head Tower, but something in her urged her to find out.

She pushed open the door gently – Myrtle didn't like arbitrary, unannounced interruptions. Hermione stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her softly. Hermione paused in mid-step as she recognized the figure hunched over the basin, his shoulders shaking as if he were crying. Hermione's eyes widened as she realized that he _was_ crying. Her heart began to speed up as she wondered what tragedy had befallen upon the tall, platinum blonde-haired boy.

She decided that Draco Malfoy should be left alone, so she turned around to open the door, aiming to quietly leave the bathroom. Unfortunately, when she turned the handle of the door, it let out a loud _creak_. Hermione froze. She knew that he had noticed. She turned around slowly to face him.

He had his wand drawn, aiming at her, his face streaked with tears. "Granger," he said in a low whisper. "_What_ are you doing here?"

It was so low of a whisper that Hermione stepped a little closer so that she could hear him properly, her mind not realizing that Malfoy had a wand pointed at her. Hermione felt like a deer caught in headlights, "I – I was passing this bathroom, when I heard someone crying ..." she trailed off, realizing that she shouldn't have said that.

Malfoy cursed, and he turned his back on her, facing the sink. "Go _away_, Granger."

Something sparked in Hermione. She walked towards him and asked softly, "Are you alright?"

Malfoy didn't turn around. "I _said_, go away."

Hermione reached her hand out as if to touch his shoulder – they were a mere two feet apart. "Malfoy, if something is wrong – "

She was cut off as Malfoy turned around, aiming his wand at her. "I don't want you and your pity here, Granger!" he yelled.

Hermione, shocked at the sudden escalated volume of his tone, and the fact that he had a wand pointed at her, jumped back. She reached inside her cloak for her wand, and curled her fingers around it. _Just in case, _Hermione thought, as she looked at the angry boy.

"Malfoy," she started, "I don't think you understand what I'm trying to say – "

"_Petrificus total-" _Malfoy yelled, but was cut off by Hermione's counter-spell.

Hermione drew out her wand, and waved it, deflecting the spell aimed at her. Her eyes widened, a fear rising up in her, as she grasped the fact that Malfoy was angry enough to throw spells at her. She took another step back.

"Malfoy, that was hardly necessary – " she began in a shaky voice.

"_Tarantalleg-_" Malfoy started up again.

Hermione waved her wand again, deflecting it. "Malfoy, _please –_" she shouted

"_Rictusemp-"_ Malfoy tried to curse Hermione again.

And again she waved her hand, so that the spell didn't hit her. Tears formed in her eyes. Before Malfoy could retaliate, she exclaimed, "Petrificus Totalus!"

Malfoy froze, his wand falling to the floor, his eyes spinning around in their sockets furiously.

Hermione walked slowly towards him, a frown on her face. Not once did she take her eyes off Malfoy's. When she was but a foot away from him, she said, "_Enough_. I'm going to release you from this spell and you are not going to ... attack me." She choked on the word 'attack' – she still couldn't believe that Malfoy had attempted to curse her.

She held his gaze for a moment longer. Draco's eyes had calmed down a bit. Now they were glaring furiously at her. She bent to pick up his wand. Once she had straightened up, she held his wand out to him. She waved her wand, and Malfoy was released from the spell.

He grabbed his wand from her roughly and aimed it at her... _again_.

Hermione sighed, and her next words were voiced in a sad tone, "Malfoy, this isn't you. Please, try to regain control of yourself."

Malfoy narrowed his red, swollen eyes. He said through his teeth, "You don't _know_ who I am. You don't _know_ what it is like to be me. You don't _know_ what I go through!" His voice was rising. "So don't you even _dare_ judge me, Granger. Now get out."

Hermione stood her ground. "Malfoy, I understand that you're going through quite a b-"

Malfoy let out an agitated noise. "_No_, Granger. You don't _understand_ anything about me! _Furnuncu-_"

"_Expelliarmus!" _ Hermione yelled. Malfoy's wand flew out of his hands, and Hermione caught it. "Would you please stop trying to curse me?" she implored of him. "You might regret killing me."

Malfoy's face was ablaze with anger. Hermione waited.

Slowly, the anger faded away, and despair took its place. He slid to the floor, and put his head in his hands, sobbing.

Hermione didn't say anything. She walked towards where he was sitting, and knelt. She rested her hand on his shoulder, offering her muted support.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Three minutes.

Four minutes.

Five minutes ... Malfoy's sobs died down, and his shoulders slumped forward as he leaned into Hermione.

Hermione, startled at the contact, awkwardly patted his shoulder.

When he spoke, his voice came out slightly raspy, "I... I don't know what to ... what to _do_, anymore ... with myself ... with others."

Hermione sat silently, listening.

"My parents are in ... Azkaban. I have no ... family. The other Slytherins ... they don't care ... They think that I'm not ..._worth_ their company anymore. Neither my parents nor I fought in the war." He sighed, the sound escaping weakly from his mouth. "My parents ..." he shook his head. Hermione could feel a tear roll down her neck from him.

They sat like that for another five minutes. Suddenly, Malfoy stiffened. Feeling his rigid posture, Hermione ceased patting his shoulder. Malfoy suddenly stood up, as if he had just realized to whom he was talking to. The side of Hermione's body that Malfoy had been resting on felt cold, and Hermione shivered.

She didn't look up at him. She knew that his face had regained its former non-emotion. She knew that he was bordering on cursing her or just walking out.

When she still hadn't heard him leave, she looked up. He was looking at her, his jaw tight, his eyes filled with nothingness, his face impassive. She stood up too, and faced him, making sure to put some distance between them. She stuck out her chin, waiting for him to say anything. When he continued to stare at her, not saying anything, Hermione nodded at him, and walked passed him to leave the bathroom.

Malfoy flung out his hand and gripped Hermione's arm. She turned around, confused. His empty eyes conveyed nothing. He pushed her roughly up against the door, and Hermione gasped slightly. Was he going to hurt her? Hermione's eyes widened, her fingers finding their way back to her wand.

Malfoy bent his head closer to her, a corner of his mouth lifting up threateningly. In a low whisper, he said, "Don't tell _anyone_ about this." He gripped her arm harder. "Do you understand?"

Hermione glared at him. "Do you even _realize_ what you are doing, Malfoy?" she hissed through her teeth. Malfoy's gaze slid down to where his hands were clenching Hermione's arms tightly. Shock filled his eyes. He let go of her abruptly. Hermione stepped away from the door and opened it. She paused, before exiting. She said over her shoulder, "And I won't tell anybody." She shut the door behind her and ran.

She ran until she reached the portrait that opened into the Heads' Common Room. She muttered the password quickly and the portrait opened. She stepped into the Common Room, and walked quickly to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Only once she was inside, did she collapse on her bed, letting out a huge sigh.

That part of Malfoy certainly did scare her. Never before had she come that close to Malfoy, physically or emotionally. e pushedHe HHhihfsdov;. never before had shHis menacing side had made a very dangerous collision with his vulnerability.

Hermione gazed up at her charmed ceiling (she made it appear as if she was looking at the night sky). As a star twinkled in the far distance, she tried to figure out how Malfoy was going to react around her.

She got her answer the next morning.

Hermione yawned as she came into the Common Room, a thick book in her hands. As it was a Saturday, she thought she could spend the day studying. She dropped herself on the couch, tucked her legs under her, and opened the book to a bookmarked page. Rubbing the sleep away from her eyes, she began to take down important notes. She flipped the pages carefully, making sure that she missed nothing important.

By the time Draco Malfoy woke up, an hour had passed for Hermione. She stretched her legs out before her and stood up. It was rather cold, so she pointed her wand at the fireplace. Flames appeared and Hermione rubbed her hands before the fire. She sighed, satisfied.

The door to Malfoy's bedroom opened, and out walked the man himself. He took one glance at Hermione kneeling before the fire and then walked off towards the exit. Hermione raised her eyebrows. So it was back to the beginning – as if the events of the previous day hadn't occurred.

She played innocent and said politely, "Good morning, Malfoy." She stared into the heart of the fire, waiting for a response from him. She didn't get one. Well, to her knowledge she didn't. If she had looked up, she would've noticed that Malfoy's head had turned fractionally towards her, almost acknowledging her presence, before leaving.

--------------------------------------------------------to be continued--------------------------------------------------------

_**A/**_**N: Well, there's another one! I've got a little bit of Dramione interaction happening here. Hope you liked it ... but if you didn't, can't say I blame you! I was pretty tired when I wrote this! Anyway, do me a massive favour please?**

**Review?**


	4. A Moment

----------------------------------------------------------A MOMENT------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione scribbled frantically across the parchment, her mouth pulling down in concentration. The Goblin War in the fifteenth century ... she nibbled the end of her quill. What else could she say? She had already exceeded the required parchment length, _and_ fully elaborated on each part in her essay. She wasn't missing anything out, was she? Sighing, she put her quill down, and screwed the lid on her bottle of royal blue ink. She was stressing too much. Again.

She massaged her temples gently, gaining a sickel's worth of satisfaction from it. She expelled a long sigh, and got up from her chair, and winced. Her body felt sore from the long hours of studying and working. She needed a break.

She waved her wand, and her parchment on the goblin war, her brand new quill, and all her study material was sent with a slight _whoosh_ to her bedroom. She wasn't thinking properly, so hopefully, the items that she had just sent to her room hadn't deposited themselves onto the floor instead of her bed like she had intended for them to do.

She slung an empty bag over her shoulder and made her way out the portrait. A thread from her frayed jeans got caught in the hook of the portrait and she tripped over her legs and fell forward. She got up with a huff, cursing the time she wanted to buy new jeans but didn't.

Hermione made her way to the library, still in a stressed mood. She pushed the door open, and walked in. Closing it behind her, she breathed in the smell of the library. She offered a smile to Madam Pince who was helping a timid-looking first year with a stack of thick books. The first year reminded Hermione of her childhood. Not so much in appearance, but the innocence that clouded the little girl's eyes; the excitement that pulled her mouth into a smile as she gazed at the books...

As nostalgia threatened to grip Hermione's body, she pushed it away, and walked toward the _Healing_ section of the library. Magical medicine was a career she deemed worth pursuing as she wanted to help people. To take someone's pain away ... to bring a smile long-forgotten back to their face – yes, worthy indeed.

She trailed her fingers gently along the jagged edges of the bookshelf, relinquishing the feel of it. A book covered in emerald green wrapping two shelves above her caught her attention, and she reached up to grab it. She stood up on her toes, and yet she _still_ couldn't reach it. She stretched out her fingers, and they brushed the spine of the book. Frustrated, Hermione jumped up, and pulled the book down at the same time. Fortunately, she got the book. _Un_fortunately, the book toppled out of its place on the shelf and fell with a dull thump on her head, and then slipped to the floor.

"Ow," she muttered, rubbing her head. She bent down to pick the book up but stopped when she realized it wasn't there. Confused, she straightened up, and almost jumped. A pale hand holding the book stretched out to her.

"I believe this is yours," Draco Malfoy intoned in a soft voice, not looking at her. He handed her the book.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. He was talking to her? "Thank you," she replied, taking the book. She opened the book, and sniffed the first page. _Ah_. She closed her eyes. The smell of the paper in a book – no matter how old – was so unique. It smelt ... clean.

She heard him clear his throat. Her eyes opened, and she smiled apologetically. "Sorry, habit," she said, completely ignoring the slightly baffled look that coloured his eyes. He looked down at the book that she held tightly in her hands. "You _do_ know," he began, "that you could have simply _Summoned_ the book?"

Hermione's eyes widened. That was something that hadn't crossed her mind. And yet ... and yet she was supposed to be the best in their year! He must think that she's rather strange and not all that logical. She felt her cheeks colour slightly, and turned her face away from him so that he wouldn't notice. Instead she pretended to read the titles of the books in front of her.

"Oh, I knew that," she replied in an offhand tone. "But I left my wand back in the Common Room – " Realizing that that made her sound even _more_ illogical, she decided to stop talking.

He cleared his throat again. She looked over at him. He was looking pointedly at her front jeans pocket. She knew what he was looking at.

Sighing, she looked down, and _lo and behold_ there was her wand. She took it out, and exclaimed in a poor imitation of surprise, "Oh! What do you know! I had it with me the whole time!" She dared to look at him, to see if he could see through her lie. But she couldn't read anything in his emotionless silvery eyes.

She tried to change the topic instead. Shoving her wand back into her pocket, she asked, "What are you doing here anyway? In this part of the library, I mean?" She paged through the book as she talked, so she didn't see the way Malfoy's eyes tightened slightly at question. When he didn't answer, she smiled sadly to herself. What was wrong with him?

She looked at him out the corner of her eye, and caught him staring out the window. She turned so that she would see what was enrapturing his attention. But what she saw wasn't anything particularly spectacular - just a pale white sky and a pair of unidentifiable flying creatures flying aimlessly in circles. She focused her attention back on her book, ignoring him, supposing that he'd walk away sometime soon.

"I'm considering exploring the field of magical medicine once I leave Hogwarts."

His delayed reply – although spoken mainly to the window than to her – registered slowly in her head.

"Really?" She didn't doubt him, but she didn't fully believe him. She used her wand to Summon a book that was on another high shelf, and paged nonchalantly through it.

Another silence ensued and she grew irritated but fought for her patience. After she had filled her bag with three more books and was about to head off to another section, he said, "Because I want to help people." His voice was laced with sadness, and it was soft, she wasn't sure whether his words were more for his own understanding or for her.

Perplexed at his behaviour, she murmured goodbye, and rushed off to another section in the library. After all, she couldn't afford for the library to close when she still hadn't gotten all her books yet!

Hermione got back to the Common Room just before ten that same night. The empty bag that she had left with was now bulging, a few books peeping out from the top. With little effort, she removed the bag from her shoulder and dumped it on the couch. She kicked off her shoes, and collapsed on the couch. She removed her hairgrip, so that her hair relaxed into a fan-like state. Her head didn't feel so heavy anymore. Closing her eyes gently, her body gave in to the couch, and before she knew it she was seeing images of dots and zigzags, and swirly patterns ...

She was woken up by a crisp voice, "Where were you tonight?"

Hermione opened her eyes, and yawned. Blinking at the tall boy in front of her, she replied intelligently, "Sorry, what?"

His lips were curled into a deep frown, yet other than that, Hermione noticed no other signs of emotion on Malfoy's face or rigid structure. His flat eyes stared down at her, as he repeated, "Where were you tonight?"

Hermione's mind raced in worry. Was she supposed to be someplace else? Or perhaps his memory was failing him now? She stood up, swayed a bit, and said in a slight pitying voice, "Malfoy, I was there at the library. Do you not remember?" She motioned towards her book bag as if giving visible proof of her statement.

Malfoy pursed his lips. "_Yes_, I remember, Granger, but we had bloody Head duties tonight." His tone sounded casual, but there was a hiss of frustration and lingering anger weighted on its surface.

Hermione tried to imitate his emotionless face as her insides crawled with worry. She missed a duty of hers? Was there a book somewhere in Professor McGonagall's office that kept a record of this? "Uh ..." she started, trying to figure out what to say. "We had duty tonight?"

He turned his back on her, and for a moment, Hermione didn't think he was going to answer her. He walked over to the hearth and knelt before it. He drew his wand out from his pocket, flicked it, and watched as flames suddenly ignited, licking the wood.

"The Ravenclaw prefects had to cancel. Remember? Lovegood notified us just the other day," he murmured, still looking intently into the flames.

Hermione had the benefit of having his back turned to her, so that he couldn't read the humiliation etched on her features. She said quietly, but in a strong voice, "So she did. I apologize for my lapse in memory."

Malfoy stood up suddenly, tearing his face away from the flickering fire. "Don't do it again. This school needs responsible leaders."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up, and her nostrils flared. "Are you calling me _irresponsible_?"

He merely looked at her.

She crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. "I can _assure_ you that I am responsible, Malfoy. It's purely because of stress that I ..." she searched for the right word – "... that perhaps I act strangely –" No, she thought, even _that _didn't sound right, but it'll have to do. She tried to convey via her eyes what she found difficult to put into words but his _eyes_ ... they were too flat and devoid of any feeling to effectively communicate. Was he even looking at her? Or staring passed her at something else? "Sorry," she finished off by saying. "It won't happen again." She picked up her book bag, sighing as she left the Common Room.

She heard him clear his throat. Hermione mentally rolled her eyes. Honestly. Couldn't he _say _something if he wanted to point something out? She turned around, and lifted her eyebrows as if to say _what?_

He jerked his head towards her hair accessories on the table and her shoes. She sighed loudly. Turning her back on him, she flicked her wand so that her possessions would follow her. Her door closed softly behind her.

Draco knelt down again by the fireplace, placing his head in his hands. He shouldn't have taken his aggravation out on her. It wasn't entirely Granger's fault. He raked his hands through his hair once, and the action reminded him of someone else ...

"_Now, now, Draco," his mother's soft voice warned as she combed her fingers through his hair. "Don't ruin your new robes on your very first day at Hogwarts ... You look like such a smart boy. Doesn't he, Lucius?"_

A tear dropped from his eye, as he stared into the fire. As one flame merged into another, he thought of his parents. He sat in front of a warm fire, whilst his parents were probably craving warmth, not being able to use the warmth in their hearts ... With a flick of his wand, the flames fell to ash, and all that was left was smoke.

-------------------------------------------------------to be continued---------------------------------------------------------

_**A/**_**N: I need to know this from you people: Should I make this a kind of long story, or a kind of short story! Let me know! Thanks!**

**Review please **


	5. Infuriation

_**A/**_**N: I apologize about the really late update. I haven't had the time! This chapter has a ****bit**** lot more Dramione action, but really isn't that eventful. Anyhoo, hope you enjoy it, and don't forget to review **** Also, thanks to all those who **_**are**_** reviewing!**

---------------------------------------------------------INFURIATION-----------------------------------------------------------

Hermione yawned loudly as she got up from her bed early the next morning. Mondays were the worst. Whether you were a Muggle, a Pureblood, Half-blood, Muggleborn or Squib, _everybody_ hated Mondays. Having to wake up to another day, be it sunny or not, it was still the day after a weekend, and _everybody_ loved weekends.

She threw back her covers, and stretched like a cat. She winced as she felt muscles in her legs respond negatively, and she thought, _I really should partake in yoga._ She patted Crookshanks' head, and rolled off her bed. Rule number one: rolling off your bed when you wake up – whether it was a Monday or not – is _not_ a good idea. She landed with a thud on her (thankfully) carpeted floor. Thinking that her bottom took one hits too many over the past couple of days, she got up, grabbed her clothes, and made her way to the bathroom.

She opened the door, which creaked loudly, and was shocked to find her co-head drying his hair with his towel. Thankfully, the rest of him was clothed. Hermione glanced back at the door, deliberating whether she should just leave, when Draco said, his face emerging from beneath the towel. "No matter, Granger. I was just finishing off."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. "Why are you here?"

Malfoy looked at her blankly. "Well, this is a bathroom, and I came here to sho –"

"That's not what I meant," she snapped. The fact that Malfoy had tried to joke with her hadn't come to her attention yet. She was still irked that he was in their bathroom when he wasn't supposed to be.

"Why are you in our bathroom when you aren't supposed to be?" she repeated her thoughts out loud. Before he could say anything, she continued, "We have a _schedule_, Malfoy. And generally, schedules are _followed_."

He didn't say anything. Instead, he crossed the enormous bathroom in a few strides, and hung up his emerald towel on the rail.

Hermione said, "What if you were doing something else, Malfoy? I mean, would you like it if I intruded while you were nak- uh ... while you were showering?"

And in customary Draco Malfoy fashion, he walked passed her, opened the door, and shut it behind him.

Hermione let out an agitated noise. "Why won't he bloody answer my bloody questions!" she cried out angrily, not caring if he heard her.

She decided she needed a shower, not a bath, to calm her down. The pulsing water really did wonders. She turned the water on, and whilst she waited for it get hot, she shrugged out of her clothes. She stuck out her hand to test the water.

"YEOW!!!" she screeched, cradling her hand to her chest. Stupid, bloody shower. This is why she preferred having a bath. She cautiously manoeuvred her hand around the streaming water to locate the cold tap. She swiftly turned it on, and the temperature of the gushing water gradually decreased to a manageable one. Well, the shower did help with one thing: her irritation with Malfoy had now moved to the shower.

She thought too soon.

She heard the door to the bathroom open quickly, and Hermione, upon reaction, hastily stumbled into the shower. She managed to close the shower door ... at around about the same time she slipped to the floor, her butt earning another bruise.

"If that's you, Malfoy, I'm giving you exactly one minute to arrange funeral plans for yourself," she muttered scathingly.

"But I heard a scream," Malfoy replied in a calm, emotionless voice. Although completely devoid of emotion, the corner of his mouth actually lifted up fractionally.

Hermione couldn't see him, due to the (thankfully) frosted shower doors. "I could've been screaming for anything, Malfoy – out of sheer excitement maybe – but that doesn't warrant you an entrance into the bloody _bathroom_!" She tried to sound calm and collected, but her voice picked up as she got towards the end f her statement...or exclamation, rather.

Malfoy stuck his wand back into his pocket. He felt uncomfortable talking to Hermione when she was on the other side of a shower door, so he tried wrapping up the conversation. "Well, you could've been hurt or something," he replied.

His words touched her, and Hermione thought, _Maybe he isn't so far gone after all. _Hermione got up from her place on the shower floor, and almost slipped again. Her irritation for the shower returned, and when she remembered why she was in the shower in the first place, irritation for him was refreshed. "So you thought you'd come and save me? Trying to save the day now, are you, Malfoy?"

She bit her tongue to refrain from speaking further. She didn't mean to say that.

Malfoy let out a low hiss. "Merlin save the day when we all need saving."

Before Hermione could explain to him, she heard the bathroom door snap shut.

He'd left.

Hermione pondered his words, trying to decipher them. She truly was touched that he thought she was hurt. If she was in a great deal of pain, would he have helped? Or would he have just come in, alarmed by her scream, and figure that it wasn't that much of a big deal? Maybe he would have helped.

Then again, maybe he would not have.

She dried herself off and changed into her uniform. Wrapping a towel around her head, she walked out of the bathroom. He was just exiting the Common Room. "Malfoy!" she called out to him. He put a hand on the portrait's frame, halting himself. He turned towards her, stepping back into the room slightly. "Yes?"

Hermione held the towel on her head tightly so that it wouldn't fall off – the towel, not her head, that is. She walked quickly towards him, and said, "Look, I didn't mean what I said earlier. That was just emotion speaking."

"Emotion," he repeated. It sounded as if he was mocking the word.

She nodded but thought that she was losing him. She grasped at loose straws. "You see," she explained, "I was first irritated with you, then I got burnt, so I was irritated with the shower next, and then you came in, and I almost slipped in the shower, and then I remembered why I was in the shower, and then I got irritated with you _again_."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "I see," he stated. Yes, she had clearly lost him. This was clarified as he nodded once at her, and turned to go.

"What it comes down to," Hermione persisted, "is that I acted purely out of emotion. So, there."

Malfoy turned back to face her, and his eyes gleamed briefly. "Emotion means nothing to me, Granger."

Hermione flinched as the portrait swung shut behind his departure. "Well, clearly," she muttered, perplexed.

When the bell for second period sounded, Hermione reached for her bag. However, when she picked it up, it felt extraordinarily light. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. How is it that she hadn't realized the lack of weight in her schoolbag when she had left the Head Tower? She rested her schoolbag on the table in front of her, careful not to knock over the cauldron that was already on it, and flicked the latch. The bag opened, and Hermione wasn't greeted by the usual sight of books upon books rushing out.

She opened the bag fully, and saw to her amazement, that she had only packed her Potions textbook! She clearly wasn't thinking this morning when she was packing her bag!

Most of her first-period class had already left. The few that remained behind were either too slow, or weren't too bothered to go to their next lesson. She, Hermione Granger, was neither slow _nor_ not keen on going to her next lesson. She was the very opposite! Glancing at her watch, she realized that there was no way in this world that she would be able to make it on time for her next class without fetching all of her other school necessities that rightfully belonged in her bag.

She grabbed her bag off the table, and ran, but just before she got to the door she heard a dull _clang_ as the cauldron dropped to the floor. Hermione, not caring to go back, withdrew her wand, and flicked it. Hopefully, the cauldron had returned to its place, and not over somebody's unfortunate head.

She sped down corridor after corridor, panting, until she finally came to the portrait to the Heads' quarters. A stitch in her stomach caused her to wince in pain, but she gasped out the password, and the portrait door swung open, even though the portrait lady looked a tad baffled at the panting Hermione.

Hermione clutched her side as she stumbled into the Common Room.

The stitch was momentarily forgotten as Hermione saw Draco Malfoy reading a book on the couch. She raised her eyebrows, and felt her eyes widen, as she asked in between pants, "How - how come you're - you're here?"

Malfoy looked at her over his book. "I could very well ask you the same question," he replied. The sight of Hermione panting, her hair plastered to her face with sweat, and she clutching her sides, seemed to trigger an ounce of amusement deep within Draco. So deep, he hardly registered it.

Hermione threw her hands up in the air, her mouth dropping to form an O. "But of course!" she practically yelled. She raced to her bedroom, stowing almost everything school-related into her bag. Her eyes swept her room swiftly, making sure she hadn't forgotten anything. Nodding to herself, she all but galloped out of her room, almost forgetting Malfoy.

Just before she got to the portrait, he called out to her, "You might need this."

She turned around, a little annoyed. She was _late_, for Merlin's sake! "What?" she barked.

Malfoy held out a voluminous book to her. She stalked forward, and grabbed the book from him. Her annoyance faded away as she read the title. She looked down at him. "How did you know I have Muggle Studies now?" she asked, shaking the book at him.

Malfoy stared back at her impassively, before saying, "Because I share the same class with you."

Hermione felt uncomfortable at his words, and she felt her eyes widen slightly. How could she have known that he shared the same class with her? "In my defence," she said, "I sit in the front of the class. Subsequently, I don't know who sits behind me."

Malfoy inclined his head in acknowledgement of her statement, and refocused his attention on his book.

Hermione shifted from foot to foot, and cleared her throat, trying to call his attention.

He didn't look up.

She cleared her throat again.

He still didn't look up.

She placed a hand on her hips. "_Well,_" she said loudly, "aren't you going to come then?"

Malfoy turned the page, and said, "Not at all."

Hermione was shocked. "May I ask _why_?"

"You may," Malfoy murmured, still reading his book intently.

"Don't play bloody games with me, Malfoy! I'm getting _late!_"

"Well, nobody's asking you to stay here," Malfoy replied.

Hermione battled the urge to slap him. "_Why_ won't you come, then?"

Malfoy didn't answer.

Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously. A few moments drew out into a few more moments, and _still_ he hadn't uttered a word! Her heart beat picked up as she grew more and more irritated. Hermione aimed a kick at the couch. "Damn it, Malfoy! Why don't you bloody answer any of my bloody questions?"

Malfoy flipped over another page. "I said you may ask; I didn't say that I was going to answer," he answered.

Merlin, he was infuriating!

Hermione slung her schoolbag over her shoulder, feeling briefly satisfied at the heaviness of the bag. "Fine," she huffed. "Don't come then."

She stalked towards the portrait, and slammed it shut behind her.

She knew she was acting childish, but did he not realize how extremely annoying he could be? She rushed to her Muggle Studies class – she was well over ten minutes late.

When she got to the door, students looked up in wonder. Hermione Granger? _Late? _Hermione ignored their looks, and squared her shoulders. She walked into the classroom, apologised to the professor, who was holding up a plug, and took her seat. Once she got into the lesson, she forgot all about Malfoy.

Back in the Heads' Common Room, Malfoy flipped another page of his _Muggle Studies_ textbook.

--------------------------------------------------------to be continued--------------------------------------------------------


	6. Breaking Through The Ice

_**A/**_**N: Thank you for the reviews! To make up for what a bad updater I am, here's a new chapter **** Hope you like it, and don't forget to review! I'd really appreciate it ... thank you. I didn't know if Michael Corner was pureblood or not, but for the sake of this chapter, and possibly story, I'm going o make him a pureblood.**

-----------------------------------------------BREAKING THROUGH THE ICE-----------------------------------------------

Hermione stifled a yawn for the third time during the first twenty minutes of her lesson. She _knew_ about plugs, for crying out loud! And yet, there were countless students around her who sat with their jaws dropped open in wonder – some in confusion – as their Muggle Studies professor, Professor Pinkle, demonstrated how to connect a plug to a socket.

The boy next to Hermione, Michael Corner, who was taking down notes, muttered to Hermione, "How does she expect us to understand this? She's going too _fast_!" He dropped his quill, and massaged his temples; Hermione suspected that he had a growing headache. She rolled her eyes.

Another yawn threatened to break out, but before she could stifle it, it escaped from her mouth. Thankfully, it was about the same time that Michael sneezed, so the sound of her yawn was slightly muffled.

Professor Pinkle shot her an annoyed look.

So maybe her yawn(s) _hadn't_ gone unnoticed.

Hermione attempted to concentrate on the lesson. Professor Pinkle was now _re_-demonstrating how to connect the plug to the socket. "It's simple, really," Professor Pinkle was saying. "You've just got to align the pins – that's these pointy things here – with the holes in the socket. Like so." She smiled triumphantly, as if she had just accomplished the unthinkable.

Hermione glanced around the class. A few people looked utterly befuddled. They had their foreheads screwed in concentration, and a few were anxiously nibbling the ends of their quills. Lavender Brown raised her hand. Professor Pinkle, delighted that she was being asked something, said, "Yes, Miss Brown?"

"Professor Pinkle, how would a light or something come on, then? Just by... just by connecting a socket to a ... plug?" Lavender didn't even seem to understand her own question. Hermione rolled her eyes again.

Professor Pinkle clapped her hands in excitement. "But you have it, Miss Brown!"

Lavender cocked her head. "I ... do?"

Professor Pinkle let out a chiming laugh. "Yes!" A few students turned around in their chairs to look at Lavender, impressed. "You did leave out one _teensy _little detail, but of course I can't blame you for that!" She let out another high-pitched laugh.

Hermione rubbed her ears, wincing.

Professor Pinkle continued, now speaking to the rest of the class, "Which brings me to my next point. Now if you could all turn to page forty-three of your textbooks ..." Professor Pinkle waited for the groans to pass before continuing, "You will find a diagram of a _switch_, which completely illustrates its sole function." She leaned forward, and whispered in an excited voice, as if speaking to a bunch of first-years, "_This_, my dears, is what we use to _activate_ the whole thing!" She clapped her hands again, smiling enthusiastically.

Hermione groaned internally. What in Merlin's name was Professor McGonagall thinking when she employed this lady? Dear old Professor Burbage was _much_ better – rest her soul. Hermione, resigned to her fate, and flipped the pages half-heartedly until she arrived at page forty-three. Her attention was diverted briefly as she heard a soft snore coming from her left. Turning, she found that Michael had fallen off to sleep. Hermione laughed, but stopped when Professor Pinkle shot another annoyed look her way. Hermione shook Michael awake, and he blinked his eyes open.

"Is the lesson over?" he mumbled sleepily.

"I wish," Hermione sighed. She showed Michael what they had to do, and shortly after that, the class fell into silence as everyone read their books intently.

Someone in the back called Professor Pinkle, and the professor immediately went over, her heels clacking loudly against the floor. "Yes, dear?" Hermione heard the professor ask. "I don't understand this." Then, Hermione heard the professor explaining.

A short while later, Hermione heard the professor's heels clacking loudly against the floor again, as another student also had a query. Soon, only the professor's clacking of heels against the floor could be heard as dozens of students couldn't refrain from voicing their puzzlement.

Professor Pinkle clapped her hands again, calling the attention of the class. She stood in front, flustered, and folded her hands into each other. She placed a wide smile on her face. "It seems that quite a few of you are a tad confused, so maybe we shall draw this lesson out a bit longer over the next couple of days– " At a few outrages gasps from the class, Professor Pinkle shook her head. "Now really, you are being quite disagreeable. How else will you be able to pass your final exams with flying colours if you cannot understand a few simple Muggle concepts?" The wide smile was back on her face, and Hermione briefly wondered whether the professor's muscles weren't aching.

Professor Pinkle took a quick look at the clock, many of the students did the same thing, and felt immensely grateful – and sighed, "Oh well, looks like there are just a few minutes left –" she was interrupted by the sound of all her students (Hermione the Perfect Student included) eagerly packing their books back into their bags, and taking out things to keep them entertained. Hermione took out a thick novel, and bowed her head over it as she began to read.

Professor Pinkle raised her eyebrows, but really, she shouldn't be surprised – her students had never shown her a smidge of respect. She wondered why. "Ahem," she said, in a high voice. Hardly anybody looked up. "_Ahem_!" she all but exclaimed.

A few looked up. She smiled.

"Now that I have your attention, I'd like to inform you about something that I've so _brilliantly_ come up with," she said, adding a tinkling laugh at the end of her sentence.

_This ought to be good_, Hermione thought sarcastically, closing her book grudgingly .

"Not many students particularly like the subject I teach, for reasons unbeknownst to me, so I have come up with something that would encourage the younger students to take up the subject." She laughed again, but stopped when she saw the blank faces staring up at her, with the words "_Get on with it, already_" written all over their faces.

She cleared her throat. "There's going to be a school musical production," she declared, beaming down at them. Hermione sat up straight in her seat, her position alike to many in her class. Professor Pinkle felt satisfied that she finally had their proper attention. "There's going to be a school musical production," she repeated, "Of a Muggle fairytale."

Excitement bubbled in Hermione's body, and she waited with bated breath for the professor to continue. "The fairytale, as some of you might or might not be familiar with, is called _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_." Professor Pinkle observed the students' faces to see any flickers of recognition at the title. Only a few – Miss Granger included – seemed to know what she was talking about. "Only, instead of the _seven dwarves_, we'll have a _Prince Charming_."

The bell for end of class went, but nobody got up. A few uninterested-looking boys looked like they wanted to get up from their seats, but seeing that they were part of the minority, reluctantly held their place in their seats. A lot of the girls, at the mention of a _Prince Charming_, perked up.

"For those of you who don't know, this fairytale has a lot of _magic_ woven into it. The only difference," she looked at her class intently, a soft smile on her face, "is that we'll make it so that the magic _really_ happens in the play!" She received a few looks of confusion – a look she was getting quite irritated by – and she said, "Look, I'll just leave the books in the front here on Miss Granger's desk," the professor flicked her wand so that twenty odd books floated from the back of the classroom to land on Hermione's desk. Fortunately, Hermione ducked, or else she'd be up in the Hospital Wing recovering from a concussion. The professor continued, "Take one, and go through it. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Hermione stood up from her seat, and took a book. She stared down at the shiny cover, with the beautiful dark-haired girl on the cover, and smiled to herself. Se stuffed the book into her bag, and although it was thin, the act proved difficult. It just wouldn't _fit!_ After a few moments of struggling, she finally managed to get the book to fit into her bag. She grinned, satisfied.

People soon barged right into her, as they aimed to get a book for themselves. "These pictures don't even _move!"_ she heard a boy yell in awe. Hermione laughed.

She glanced at the pile of the ever-diminishing stack of books, and briefly thought of Malfoy. _Would he perhaps be interested?_ She wondered to herself. An image of Malfoy singing, acting out a scene, crossed her mind, and the idea seemed so implausible that she almost walked away. But she paused at the doorway, and glanced back at the stack of now, approximately, five books. She walked towards her desk, picked up another book. _Just in case_, she thought. She almost cried out in frustration when she realized she'd have to try forcing another book to fit into her bag. She battled, with great difficulty, but finally managed.

She ran off, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Third period had already started.

* * *

By the end of the day, Hermione officially hated her bag. Her bag had torn during sixth period, when Professor McGonagall gave them an additional Charms textbook, and Hermione had to try fitting that into her bag, too. The bag had burst at the seams, and Professor McGonagall had exclaimed, "Goodness, Miss Granger! What on earth do you carry in that bag of yours?"

Hermione's quick and used-countless-of-times reply ("_Only the necessary things, Professor!"_) didn't impress the professor in the slightest.

So now, she was returning to the sanctuary of the Common Room. She couldn't wait to kick off her shoes, relax on the couch, and study for her final exams.

The portrait door swung forward as she muttered the password, and Hermione clambered into the Common Room gratefully. Malfoy was in the exact same position that he had been six hours ago, this time a different book in his hands. He looked up as she walked in, and then looked back at his book. Hermione stared at him with unvarnished disbelief on her face. "Did you _bunk _school today?"

Malfoy simply shrugged.

Hermione threw her hands up into the air. "Malfoy! You can't just _bunk_ school like that! You're Head Boy!"

"I can do what I very well feel like doing, Granger," he muttered, not caring to look at her.

Hermione shook her head furiously at his words, even though she knew he couldn't see her. "Malfoy! It's your last year at Hogwarts! After this you have to go out there and get a job, and you can't exactly do that if you fail this year!"

Draco raised his pale eyebrows. "And why would I fail?"

Hermione laughed incredulously. "Because you're forever _bunking!_ You're _not_ coming to classes; therefore you're missing out on _vital_ education! You just _sit_ there on that couch, and ... _read!"_

Malfoy closed his book. "And suddenly you have a problem with reading, is it?" he asked in a low tone, his silver eyes looking like a dull grey. His usual platinum-blonde hair looked almost without colour, and his skin was looking ashy.

Hermione's eyes flashed at his words. She dropped her bag to the floor and said, "_No_, I have a problem with you _bunking_."

Malfoy looked at her blankly, and then looked away to the fireplace, sighed and said, "It was just today, Granger."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "How _dare_ you lie to me!" she couldn't help but yelling.

Malfoy didn't respond.

She continued, "I _handle_ the school's attendance records, Malfoy! You've been absent for approximately twenty days so far, and the year isn't even half over yet!"

Malfoy still didn't respond. Hermione closed her eyes and counted to ten in her head. When she was done, she took in a deep breath and released it through her mouth. Dragging her bag behind her on the floor, she made her way to the set of couches. She sat opposite him.

"Malfoy," she said in a calmer voice, "I understand that you're going through a rough patch, but you need to do this for _you_. How can you live in the moment when you refuse to stop living in the past?"

His eyes met hers. Hermione didn't know whether he was registering her words or not. She didn't notice the subtle stiffening in his posture. "You have to move on, Malfoy," she said softly. "They'll come back soon –"

"Granger," he growled. Hermione stopped talking. Malfoy had quite a frightening gleam in his eyes. "I asked you not to pry."

Hermione stuck her chin out. She faced him once; she could do it again. "Malfoy, do you realize that blocking out everybody won't help you at all? You're hurting yourself more than you would think. You need to accept what has happened; not reject it. You –"

Malfoy stood up suddenly, his eyes flashing. "Would you stop telling me how to live my life?" he shouted. There was so much pent-up emotion in his voice, raw, naked, and so self-revealing, that Hermione blinked in surprise.

She stood up, too. "I'm not telling you how to live it," she retorted. "I'm trying to tell you _why_ you need to live it."

Malfoy glared at her. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Hermione said in a strong voice, "You're completely devoid of emotion, Malfoy. Where's your bite? You don't insult. You don't talk. You don't answer. You don't ask." She looked at him closely. "Have you never wondered why it was you? Why it was your parents?" Malfoy narrowed his eyes slightly. Hermione moved on. "Malfoy, if you carry on living like this, your life's going to pass by you in a whirlwind. And you're going to get lost in it. And if you keep closing yourself off to people, no one will be able to help you find your way." She let her words sink in. Maybe Malfoy's skin was too tough for her words to sink through. He'd already created such a hard layer.

Each word falling from her lips hacked at the thick walls he'd put up around himself.

Draco looked at the girl through his half-awake eyes. Why did she care so much? Was it in her nature to be like this? Her words had hit so close to home, that Malfoy had briefly considered the possibility of her being able to read his mind. Her words seemed to open a window in his mind, and now knowledge and insight was flowing in. A breath of fresh air; all the stale air was ever so slowly falling out of the small, new window.

Her words made sense. Would he really end up getting lost? Would there really be nobody there to draw a map for him? He shook his head in wonder. Yet, how could the emotion-driven words of a mere girl influence his thoughts and actions? Or was she just a catalyst to a reaction that was supposed to happen?

Draco's mind was clenched in a tight fist of questions, and it didn't seem as if the fist was loosening its hold anytime soon.

Granger was staring at him, waiting. Draco realized that he had been quiet for a long period. He regarded her coolly, yet the icicles borne into his body of late, slowly began to melt. Slowly.

He reached behind him for his book. When he had it in his hand, he said to Granger in a soft voice, "Goodnight, Granger." He turned and walked towards his room.

Hermione let out a low hiss of frustration. He was ignoring her again! _My words have fallen upon deaf ears, _she thought irritably. She stalked off to her bedroom, her bag completely forgotten on the floor.

But, if Hermione had indeed been able to read Draco's mind, she'd know just how grateful he was feeling deep down inside.

-------------------------------------------------------to be continued---------------------------------------------------------

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	7. Common Room

------------------------------------------------------COMMON ROOM--------------------------------------------------------

The sounds of birds tweeting, crickets creaking, and the gentle pitter-patter of rain against her window entered Hermione's semi-conscious ears. It couldn't have been the time to get up. It was earlier; much earlier. You know that feeling when you really want to fall back to sleep, but your body has other ideas? Hermione was going through that right now. Her heartbeat sped up as she came to her senses, her eyelids fluttered, her ears became more attuned to other sounds, and a sigh escaped her lips. _Oh well, might as well get up_, she thought resignedly.

She cracked an eye open, and winced, shutting it immediately. Harsh light from the pale white sky flooded her room – she'd forgotten to close her curtains last night! She felt around for her wand on her pedestal and flicked it. Through her closed eyes, she saw her room get slightly darker. She smiled, placing her wand back on the pedestal. She opened both eyes now. Crookshanks was fast asleep on the pillow next to Hermione's. Hermione gazed at her cat adoringly. _If only I could have been a cat_, she thought, _then I'd have no troubles at all. Jut sleep and sleep and sleep..._

Hermione yawned, closing her eyes briefly. Her head turned about on her pillow, and she opened her eyes again. This time though, her gaze fell upon her table in the corner of her room. She squinted, feeling as if there was something missing. She propped herself on her elbow, and focused on the items on her desk.

There were hardly any.

She scratched her head, even though there wasn't even an itch, thinking. She scanned the items, running a mental checklist.

Quill set?

_Check_.

Victor Krum's newest book?

_Check_.

Fresh clothes for the morning – well, today?

_Check_.

Desk calendar?

_Check_.

Schoolbag?

_Ch- oh, wait. Where on earth is my schoolbag?_ Hermione racked her brain. Then, when she couldn't figure it out, she started panicking. She couldn't lose that bag! She just couldn't! There were valuable items in that bag! Like her precious books, _and_ her textbooks! And that essay she was in the midst of writing was in that new _Read-Me_ file she'd bought recently. Hermione mentally retraced her steps yesterday.

Straight after school was over, she'd gone to the library...was her schoolbag on her at the time? She was sure of it. And then ... Hermione thought harder ... and then she went – _came_ to the Common Room. Was it here then?

She didn't think she could have dropped it on the way to the Common Room – she'd have to be deaf not to notice the sound it would make. So then it _must_ be here in the Head Tower, right? She hopped out of bed, her muscles complaining profusely, and headed for her door. She glanced at her watch – yes, she slept with it – and found that she was right. It _was_ early – approximately five o' clock early. Her hand paused in the act of turning the knob on her door. So basically, she had three hours left until school started. She rolled her eyes. _Excellent on waking up early, Hermione_, she thought sarcastically.

She grabbed her quill set from her table and some parchment. Just in case she wanted to finish writing that essay. She did have time after all. She turned the knob on the door slowly, as if she didn't want to disturb any living thing. She tiptoed outside, and paused. _What _was _with_ this boy?! He was practically everywhere she went. Malfoy had fallen off to sleep on the couch – it might as well be _his_ couch due to the amount of time he spent on it.

This time, Hermione didn't make an effort to be quiet. She was still quite peeved from last night. She stomped around the room, making as much noise as possible. The centre table, around which the couches were situated, she moved, after placing her parchment and quill set atop it. The table's legs scraped loudly against the wooden floor.

Draco's eyes blinked open, and he swivelled his head around in search of the noise. When he found it, he pulled a hand through his hair, and closed his eyes again. "What the bloody hell are you doing, Granger?" he groaned, his voice cracked with sleep, and laced with the desire for more.

Hermione smiled to herself as she peered under the table. "I'm looking for my schoolbag," she announced. She pulled the table back to its former position, and she saw Malfoy wince as the table's legs let out more loud noises as it was slid against the floor.

Malfoy covered his face with his hands. "It wasn't necessary for you to move the whole bloody table, Granger," he muttered in a muffled voice. Hermione didn't reply. "And what time is it?" he asked.

"About five-past-five," Hermione answered cheerily, now moving to behind the couches.

Draco let out a low groan that he didn't think the girl would hear. So, basically, he had only two hours of sleep, and because of bloody Granger, he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep for a while. He reached for a cushion, and squashed it onto his face. Where was all that light coming from? Did it not realize how unwelcome it was?

Hermione, discovering that her bag was _not_ behind any of the couches, stood up. She glanced at Malfoy, and mentally scoffed. She walked to the table, and picked up a small black object. She flicked a switch on the side, and music fell out of the object. Hermione turned the volume up, deliberately.

Malfoy threw the cushion off his face. It landed next to Hermione. Hermione looked down at it, but said nothing. She carried on looking for her bag. "Granger, _what the bloody hell is your problem?"_

"I can't sleep, Malfoy, and I can't find my bag either," she replied matter-of-factly.

Draco gritted his teeth. "There's no need for bloody music. And your _bag_ is by the door," he said quietly, battling for self-control.

Granger raised her eyebrows, looking shocked for a moment. "What on earth is it doing there?" she asked, as she made her way to the door.

"I don't know," Draco replied bitingly. "Why don't you look in the mirror and ask the person there?" He stifled a yawn.

Granger picked up her bag, and brought it to one of the couches, sitting down on it. She opened it, and went through it. She started taking out books, stacking them in a neat pile on the table – presumably she was making sure everything was still there. Draco rolled his eyes but, grateful for the silence, settled into the couch again, and closed his eyes. He was almost there, just a few more minutes and he'd be fast asleep.

Ah.

He was there.

He was on his broomstick, flying at the speed of light around the Quidditch pitch. The wind fingered his platinum-blonde hair. The feeling he was feeling was so liberated, weightless almost –

"Malfoy?" Granger's sharp voice woke him up. He pretended he couldn't hear her, and tried desperately to get back into his dream. "Malfoy?" she interrupted again.

He bolted upright. Merlin, he was angry. He glared at her. "_What._" He didn't even make it sound like a question.

Granger rolled her eyes. The nerve of her! "I have here a book for you--" she held up a thin, shiny, hardcover book with a black-haired girl on the front surrounded by several dwarves. The picture wasn't even moving.

He continued to glare at her. "I don't read books like that," he muttered.

Granger narrowed her eyes. "Would you let me finish? We – that is to say, the students in the Muggle Studies class – all received this book yesterday. It's a Muggle fairytale, and there's going to be a musical coming up – our school's producing it – and Professor Pinkle wants us to read it to get an idea of what it's about."

"Why?"

"No need to sound so enthusiastic about it, Malfoy," Hermione muttered sarcastically. "It's because she wants us to partake in the musical—"

Malfoy lay back down on the couch. "I won't be needing the book, Granger. Now, if you'll excuse me—" he turned his back on her, so that he was facing the couch. Hermione suspected that he was trying to fall off to sleep again.

She wasn't yet ready for him to do that.

"Malfoy, you can't just say _no_ without knowing what might be happening! You might li-ike this," she stumbled over the word 'like'. Was there anything that Malfoy 'liked'? She cleared her throat. Malfoy didn't say anything. Well, she could've predicted that. "Well, I'll leave it here, then, in case you change your mind," she added hesitantly. Malfoy seemed like the kind of person who, once he made up his mind, wouldn't change it easily.

Draco turned around then, facing her. His eyes slid briefly to the tall stack of books on the table – were _all_ those from her bag? He closed his eyes briefly, shaking off the thought. He opened it, and saw the Granger girl watching him. She had a cautious look in her eyes, yet she still looked as if she wanted to play with him, like how a cat might do with a mouse. Draco refrained from rolling his eyes. Did the girl honestly think that she was boss around here? But then again, if the way he had been acting recently was any indication of authority...

"Granger," he said in a cool voice, "I don't _want_ it." He looked at her levelly.

Granger met his look with the same degree of levelness, and she replied, "Fine, but I'll still leave it here."

Draco felt frustrated. Did she not understand the word 'no'? He glanced at his watch. Five-forty-five. Would he ever get his sleep? He rubbed away the sleepiness from his eyes, and got up, and relaxed into a sitting position. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and looked at her. "Granger, which parts of 'don't want it' do you not understand?"

Granger stuck her chin out. "The '_want'_ part."

Draco sighed. "I just don't want to do it. I don't want to be a part of it."

"Why?" she asked sharply.

Draco let out a low humourless laugh. "I rather not say, Granger," he said quietly, after his laughter subsided.

Granger got to her feet, and crossed her arms. "Tell me," she demanded. The girl had a hot temper.

Draco got up too, and he felt his heartbeat speed up – his insides felt as if they were on fire. Ah, he was getting angry as well. He clenched his fists, willing his anger to settle. "Who are you to demand things of me?" he asked, anger battling to take control of his voice. Granger's eyebrows shot up. "Because of _you_ I couldn't even _sleep_ last night. Your stupid words kept on playing in my head like a – OH _SHUT_ UP!" he yelled, knocking the small radio off the table, breaking it.

Hermione stared at the broken radio on the floor. Her favourite song had been playing! She stared at him, and said, "What on _earth_ did you do that for?"

Malfoy ignored her. He stormed irately up to her, weaving his way around the centre table until he was a few inches away from her. "I got _two_ hours of sleep, Granger! _Two!_ While you slept for bloody _hours_, I only had _two!_"

Hermione was amused, but she didn't show it figuring that it would only anger him further. Instead, she said something else – something that was initially on her mind, "So you _were_ listening to me."

Malfoy stared at her incredulously. "Of course I was listening to you, you insolent little girl! I could think of nothing else!"

"I am _not_ an 'insolent little _girl_', Malfoy," Hermione spat.

Malfoy fumed silently before her. Hermione was also worked up, but her short-termed anger quickly faded as she hit a realization. Malfoy's eyes had a hint of shiny silver in them, as if their sparkle was just returning. The dull grey was of course still the dominating participant, but the silver ... she was sure that that was silver. His mouth was twisted into a deep frown, and he had some colour in his face.

Emotion. He was showing emotion.

Hermione wasn't so far gone as to smile as if he was her young protégée who had just made a great accomplishment, but yet, she felt a glimmer of hope that Malfoy was getting better. She looked at him with appraising eyes, trying to figure out what he' do next. He wasn't doing anything. Just staring at her, while he silently fumed.

"Stop your crankiness, please," Hermione said lightly.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "You woke me up when I wasn't even _supposed_ to get up!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, Malfoy. You've said more or less the same thing for the past five minutes now."

Malfoy let out a low hiss. "Are you not going to apologize?"

"For what?" Hermione cocked an eyebrow.

Malfoy merely looked at her meaningfully.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Might I remind you, Malfoy, that this _Common Room_ is not a _bedroom_. A _bedroom_ is where you should have been sleeping, not here. I can do as I please in this room."

Malfoy shook his head at her words. "I can't _help_ falling off to sleep here!"

Hermione didn't respond. Instead, she bent to retrieve the fairytale book she'd gotten for him. She thrust it forward so that it hit him squarely in the chest – she hoped she hadn't hurt him or the book – and fell to the floor. He didn't wince. He bent forward to pick the book up, and Hermione stepped backwards so that their bodies wouldn't touch. Thankfully, Malfoy didn't comment.

When he'd straightened back up again, Hermione watched him. He was looking doubtfully at the cover, holding the book further away from his body than he normally would have. He twisted the book this way and that, trying to make sense of it.

"Read it," Hermione instructed.

Malfoy sighed, looking at her and then back at the book. "Do I have to?" he asked, his eyes not leaving the book.

"No," Hermione replied reluctantly. "But it would be nice."

"Nice," Malfoy repeated, still looking at the book.

Hermione looked at him. "Yes, _nice_."

Malfoy rubbed his eyes. "Fine, I'll think about it," he muttered.

Hermione decided that that was the best answer she would ever get. She wasn't exactly expecting a 'thank you' or a 'yes, of course' answer. "Thank you," she said.

Malfoy didn't reply immediately. "Will you be staying here in the Common Room, then?" he asked after a moment's pause.

Hermione shrugged. "I suppose."

Malfoy turned and said, "Then I guess I'll go to my room to sleep."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. She was chasing him out? "That's hardly necessary, Malfoy. By all means, please—" she motioned to 'his' couch, half-heartedly.

Malfoy shook his head. "No, it's fine." And abruptly, he left the room, _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_ clutched in his left hand.

Hermione shook her head. Well, at least some things hadn't changed.

* * *

Draco woke up – naturally this time. He rolled over in his bed so that he was lying on his back. He rubbed away the 'sand' from his eyes, and sleepily looked at his watch – yes, he slept with it – and discovered that it was seven o' clock on the dot. Maybe he should start getting up now. He massaged his head, a soft frown on his face. He was getting a headache.

Trying to brush it off, he got up from his bed, and stretched. His body felt weak. Why was it that he was only becoming aware of these things _now_? It should've been drawn to his attention when these things first started. He walked sleepily towards his door, a silent yawn escaping his mouth. Upon opening his bedroom door, he found Granger sitting on one of the couches, still in her pyjamas, her legs tucked beneath her. She was writing something – a letter perhaps? Draco watched, transfixed, finding it impossible to turn his eyes away from the person sitting on the couch doing something normal. Doing something with her life, at least. Granger rolled her head around a few times, probably to relieve the tension in her neck. She dipped her quill in her ink and began writing the last paragraph.

Draco shook his head to himself. He cleared his throat, bringing attention to himself.

This was probably not a good idea.

Hermione got the shock of her life when she heard someone clear his throat that she jumped, her open bottle of ink flying into the air, its contents toppling out spilling all over her and her parchment and the couch. "Oh, bother," Hermione mumbled, as she stared at the mess around and on her. She glared resentfully at Malfoy. "Did you have to surprise me like that?"

Malfoy looked surprised. "I apologize. I had no idea that you were jumpy."

Hermione ignored him and got up from her place on the couch, and she cringed as she felt the ink dribble down her legs. She ran to her room, grabbed her wand from her pedestal and ran back to the Common Room, siphoning the ink off her body with her wand. She waved her wand a bit, and the blotches of ink disappeared from her parchment (thankfully, the words she had written hadn't disappeared as well), the couch and the floor.

She looked at her now half-full bottle of ink. "That was a _good_ bottle of ink," she said miserably.

Draco looked only once at Granger's half-empty bottle of ink before looking back at her and asking, "Your wand was in your _room?" _

Granger looked up from her bottle. "Well, where else, Malfoy?" she asked irritably.

Draco chose not to say anything. He thought it was quite obvious.

"You mean I should've kept it with me?"

"I mean that you should _keep_ it with you."

"I can't sleep with my goddamn wand, Malfoy. Is that what you're suggesting?" Granger lifted an eyebrow.

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco muttered. "What if someone attacked you?"

Granger laughed. At the moment, due to his sleepy state, Draco found her song-like laugh irritating. "Like who, Malfoy? You?" Her laughter quickly died as the memory of what had happened in Myrtle's bathroom hit them both. Draco felt uncomfortable, and quickly averted his gaze, scratching his ear.

His gaze fell upon her huge pile of books that she'd yet to pack back into her bag, and motioned towards tem with one hand. "Granger," he said, trying to change the topic, "do _all_ those books go into your schoolbag?"

Hermione looked at her books, and sighed. She walked over to the stack, and gently passed her hand across the cover of the top book. "I guess," she said. "But I think that I should take a few out," she added wistfully.

Draco nodded his head, as if he understood her dire situation.

She was about to say something else, and Draco thought that she was going to bring up the topic about Myrtle's bathroom incident again, so he said, "Yesterday, you said that you oversee the school's attendance records. I was wondering why." The topic was completely out of the blue, yet it was the only thing he could think of on the spot.

Hermione blushed.

Curiosity triggered, Malfoy walked forward a bit.

"Well, it's really Professor McGonagall's job," she started. Draco nodded. He knew this. "But I offered to do it for extra credit," she finished off in a mumble.

Draco raised his eyebrows. He felt something tickle his insides, and he realized that he wanted to laugh. He felt briefly shocked at the dormant feeling. He felt his lips jerk slightly due to his conflicting emotions.

"Ah," he said.

Granger didn't say anything. She just petted the top book.

"Well, I need to get ready," she said after a while.

Draco nodded, not too sure why she was telling him this. He thought it best if he also left to get ready as well. He nodded at her again, and went back to his room.

Later, when the soft hot water was massaging his head, Draco wondered why he'd gone to the Common Room in the first place.

-------------------------------------------------------to be continued---------------------------------------------------------

_**A/**_**N: I really hope that wasn't **_**too**_** bad! You might notice that at some parts it was kind of awkward – guys, it was **_**supposed**_** to be awkward! Anyway, I made this chapter longer than my others **** Kinda proud of myself.**


	8. Beginning To Unfold

_**This chapter is especially for all those who have been so kind and reviewed **____** This chapter has a bit of everything thrown in to it: sadness, the beginning of love, humour, so please enjoy. It's written purely from Draco's perspective.**_

---------------------------------------------------BEGINNING TO UNFOLD-------------------------------------------

_August 25__th__, 2008_

Lucius Malfoy was reading The Prophet at the table, Narcissa was cooking breakfast – scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages – and Draco was writing a letter to his girlfriend of the time (Astoria Winter). Narcissa flicked her wand, and the food dished itself onto three plates and the plates zoomed over to the table.

"Draco," she called.

"Coming, Mother," Draco yelled from the lounge, finishing off his letter. He got up, attaching the letter to his owl's leg. The owl took off through the window, and Draco thought he saw something else in the far distance. He hurried to the kitchen. His father was folding up the newspaper.

"Anything tragic, Father?" Draco teased. After the war, his family hadn't cared much for the newspaper, and took whatever chance they had to tarnish it.

"Uh, no, son," Lucius muttered distractedly. Draco paused in the act of lifting the forkful of food to his mouth. His father hadn't replied with his usual witty comment. Was he sick, perhaps? Draco asked aloud his question.

Lucius laughed, but to Draco it sounded forced. "Of course not, Draco. Narcissa, aren't you joining us?"

Draco brushed off his father's strange behaviour. His mother joined them at the table and looked fondly at Draco. "I'm glad you chose to go back to school this year, Draco," she said warmly, a soft smile on her face.

Draco returned the smile. "I have a future to live, don't I?"

Narcissa ran a hand through Draco's hair. "A future," she repeated. "You want to go into the field of Magical Medicine, right?"

Draco nodded, not being able to reply verbally due to the food in his mouth.

Narcissa nodded as well, picking up her knife and fork. "Good," she said.

Draco felt happy. It was a Sunday morning, and even though the sky wasn't blue and there weren't exactly many signs of life outside, the atmosphere felt wonderful. His family was close-knit now, warm, as if they were all made from the same wool. He hadn't realized how much he really depended upon his parents, for their protection and love.

They were a _family_.

His smile was still on his lips when a loud rap on the door caused him to jump slightly. He looked enquiringly at his mother. "Are we expecting anybody?" His mother shook her head, surprise colouring her blue eyes.

"I'll get it, then," Draco said, getting up from his chair.

He was stopped as his father placed a hand on his shoulder. Draco looked up at his father. Something in his father's eyes – fear, perhaps? – stopped Draco short, and he sat down slowly. His father brushed his clothes and walked hesitantly towards the door. Before he got to the door, he looked back at his family, and the emotion on his face was naked.

Grief.

Narcissa's sharp intake of breath caught Draco off guard. What was happening?

"It's time then," Narcissa said softly, a tear leaked from her eye, as understanding filled her mind. Lucius said nothing. And another loud rap was heard.

Draco placed his hand on his mother's. "Mother, what's happening?"

More tears from Narcissa's eyes. "I'm so sorry, Draco." Draco wasn't too sure what his mother was apologizing for.

Lucius opened the door and Draco whipped his head around to face the door. Two tall men in black cloaks – one with glasses – stood at the door. Without Lucius's consent, they entered the house, their wands raised, one pointed at Lucius, the other at Narcissa. Lucius and Narcissa raised their hands in surrender.

Draco, completely shocked, looked at his mother. He wished he had his wand with him. His was in his room. He stood up, standing in front of his mother so that she was blocked from the men's view. He glared angrily at them. "What the _hell_ is happening here?" he said quietly.

The man with the glasses said sternly, "Mr Malfoy, please move."

"No," Draco growled.

"Mr Malfoy, please do not be difficult. We do not wish to harm you."

Draco was about to argue again, when Lucius said calmly. "Draco, son, do as the man says, please."

Draco looked at his father. His father looked defeated. Draco shook his head, but after a moment, he stood to the side, so that the wand was pointed back at his mother. The sight tore at his heart.

The man with the glasses announced, "Mr and Mrs Malfoy, you are both under arrest – "

"What? No!" Draco yelled, making a move towards the man.

"Draco," Narcissa said, her voice cracking.

Draco looked at his mother beseechingly, and then after that, he couldn't hear anything. He watched as his parents were being led out by the man in the glasses, and each one of his parents' steps out the door embedded a shard of ice deep into Draco's body. His mother took one last glance at him, and weakly lifted a hand in farewell. Draco numbly returned the gesture. Then, the man tugged at his mother's wrist, and she was gone.

The tears poured down from Draco's eyes, and he didn't know that he was capable of crying that much. He didn't feel it was fair, his parents getting taken away from him like that. They had just gotten to understand the meaning of familial love...

The other man remained behind, speaking to Draco. Telling him things that Draco couldn't make sense of; things that Draco didn't care about. He wanted to rip the heart out of this man before him. Did he not have a family at home? Did he not understand the meaning of the word family? Would he not care if his family had been taken away from him? Draco clenched his fists at his side, focusing solely on not punching this man. He caught only a few words, "—ten to fifteen years in Azkaban—" "—one visit per month—" "—associated with You-Know-Who—"

And then darkness, the breakfast on the table ice-cold.

* * *

March 19th, 2009

Draco woke up suddenly. He'd had the dream again – not dream, _nightmare_ – and it had felt so unbelievably real. His face was wet – sweat or tears? He climbed out of his bed in a rush and threw his window open, welcoming the biting cold air. It cracked at his face, piercing it, yet Draco felt relieved – he'd gotten out of the nightmare. He held up his wrist to look at his watch. Two o'clock, in the bloody morning.

Draco hated having that nightmare. It released so many memories that he had fought to bury, and the rawness of it tore at his vulnerability. He didn't have the nightmare often since the...arrest. The last time he had it was the night before the first day of seventh year.

Draco had his head half bowed out of the window. He had half-forgotten about Astoria Winter, and he wondered how she was doing now. He raised his head to look at the gleaming white sphere hanging above in the sky. What time was it in Australia? Would she be awake now? He hadn't loved her, but he had been incredibly fond of her. However, once his parents were ... once his parents left, he'd cut off his ties from everyone. He hoped he hadn't hurt Astoria too much.

He sighed into the early morning air, running a hand threw his hair. His hair felt coarse, unhealthy. He turned to face the wall-length mirror, and stopped himself from taking a step back. He took a few steps forward, staring at the stranger looking back at him with disbelief etched into his eyes. How long had it been since he'd looked into a mirror? Eons. His eyes were red-rimmed, and there were dark circles beneath them. And did he not have silver eyes? They looked like a dull grey, or perhaps it was just lack of light in his room. And his skin ... it looked almost transparent. His lips were chapped.

That Granger was right. His life was falling apart right before him.

He turned around and plopped himself on his bed. The sharp breeze had cooled his sheets to quite a comfortable state. He leaned against his headboard, refusing to close his eyes. He didn't want to return to the nightmare. His head lolled to one side, and his gaze rested upon one of the many frames of his family he kept in his room. It was sitting on his pedestal. Draco reached out a hand to grab it.

The photo bordered by the cool, metal frame was one that Draco couldn't remember taking. It was of both his parents and his three-year-old self. Lucius had the typical aristocratic look about him, yet a gentle warmness coloured his silver eyes. It was after Voldemort had supposedly died, so there wasn't a need to seem weary or fearful. Draco's eyes followed his father's arm to where it rested around Narcissa's waist. His mother, too, was smiling – with teeth – a brilliant, shining smile. Her blue eyes sparkled. Draco, a disciplined boy, was sitting on his mother's lap, sometimes looking at his father, sometimes looking at his mother.

His family hadn't taken many pictures.

Draco placed the picture back on his pedestal with a sigh. He really did miss them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something shiny. Swivelling his head around, he found that it was the thin hardcover book that Granger had given him. The shiny cover of the book had caught the moon's light. He glanced at his watch again. Seven minutes past two. He got up from his bed, and walked to his desk and sat on the chair.

He had only been humouring Granger. He wasn't planning on reading the book, really. He picked up the book loosely, and stared at it, unsure. Should he?

He was being ridiculous.

He dropped the book back onto his desk.

He stood up and changed into jeans and a loose shirt. He grabbed his wand off his desk and clutched it in his hands. He crossed his room, and closed his window. He didn't want any bizarre creatures coming into his room. He exited his room.

Granger was sitting on one of the couches scribbling away on her parchment, her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth. Draco didn't think she could see him, and he was grateful for that. He hadn't realized how awful and sickly he had been looking like – was _still _looking like. He held fast to the knowledge that he was indeed a good-looking man, and he would try to return to that. What must have Granger thought of him? Not only Granger, the other girls in the school as well?

He tried to tiptoe alongside the wall, hoping that Granger wouldn't hear him. He dearly didn't want her to see him looking the way he did, and also, it seemed that whenever he and Granger muttered even a word to each other, it turned into a complicated discussion. He didn't want that either. Especially not at two o'clock in the morning.

But, as luck would have it, Granger – still scribbling away on her parchment – without looking up, said, "I know you're there, Malfoy, so you don't have to worry about startling me like last time."

Draco wanted to correct her – that really it was for other reasons he was tiptoeing about their Common Room as if the floor was made from twigs, but he didn't. Instead he said in a non-committal tone, not bothering to glance her way, "Right." He made his way towards the portrait door. He opened it, and stepped outside, not bothering to dignify Hermione's "Where do you think you're going?" with a response.

The corridors were dark – Draco couldn't even see his hand. He held out his wand in front of him and whispered, "_Lumos_," and suddenly there was light. He strolled down the corridors and staircases until he finally came to his destination. He lowered his wand, and quickly looked to his left and right, before tickling the pear on the painting in front of him.

A door swung open, and he stepped through the doorway. The well-lit kitchen was surprisingly quiet, and Draco briefly wondered, _Did the elves even sleep? And if so, where?_ His footsteps echoed loudly and the sound bounced off the walls. He spotted one or two elves, and he nodded his head at them in acknowledgement. He whispered, _"Nox,"_ and his wandlight went out.

"Twixy?" he called out.

A little elf with a pink bow on her head came scurrying over to where Draco was standing. She curtseyed before him. "Draco Malfoy," she squeaked, still in her curtsey position.

"Enough of that, Twixy," Draco insisted. The elf immediately stood up pin straight.

"What can Twixy get for Draco Malfoy?" she asked in her high voice, her brown eyes shining brightly.

Where did she get her enthusiasm from? "Whatever snacks you have, Twixy – not all of them though," he added as an afterthought.

"Why not, sir? You're looking so _pale_ and _thin _as it is..." Twixy said in what she thought was a whisper.

Could everybody see it except him? Draco shook his head at his obliviousness. "No, no, Twixy. Just a few. And could you get me some water please? My throat's parched."

Twixy curtseyed once more, and after more persisting from Draco she straightened up again, and hurried off to get his 'snacks'. She returned a few moments later, a small box in her hand. "Twixy put them all in a box for you, Draco Malfoy, sir," she squeaked, a wide smile sporting her face.

As much as he wanted to do it, Draco found it immensely difficult to return her smile. How long had it been since he had smiled? "Thank you, Twixy," he said kindly. He looked around the kitchen once again. "Twixy, why is it that the kitchen is so empty now? Usually when I come – "

"That's because it's early in the morning, sir!" Twixy said loudly. "Most of the house elves are asleep now."

Draco felt stupid. "Right," he said. Before he turned to go, another elf walked passed them, and said in a low tone, "Hello, Twixy."

If Draco hadn't been watching Twixy, he wouldn't have believed it. Twixy actually _blushed_, and mumbled, yes, _mumbled_, "Hello, Doppy."

When the elf – Doppy – had left, Draco cocked an eyebrow and looked down at Twixy.

Twixy looked at him nervously. "What?"

Draco leaned down and whispered into one of her big ears, "You like him, don't you?" He leaned back to look at her response. For once in her life, Twixy didn't say anything. Draco tried to smile, but seeing as that was hopeless, he tried to inflict as much warmth into the hug he offered Twixy. "Good luck," he said quietly, standing up, "and thank you," he added, motioning towards the bag in his hand.

Twixy curtseyed, and mumbled, "It's always a pleasure to serve Draco Malfoy."

When Draco was back outside walking down the corridors and up the staircases, he thought about Twixy and Doppy. Never once did he even care to think about elf relationships. Of course, how else did elves originate? Such simple love.

Before he knew it, he was outside the portrait. "_Albus_," he muttered, and the portrait door swung open. "_Nox_," he whispered. The Common Room was so warmly lit anyway. Granger was still sitting on the couch, quill in hand. She was using the end of the quill to scratch her head. At the sound of his entrance she dropped the quill, and said loudly, "Where've you been? We're not allowed to _roam_ the school afterhours!"

"Calm down, Granger," Draco muttered, walking towards the couch he usually sat on. He sat down on it, and took out his bottle of water. "I went down to the kitchen. Nobody saw me," he said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes like she so frequently did. He sipped his water, and almost sighed. Ah, that felt good.

"I don't _care_ if nobody saw you! Point is you're not supposed to be out there now. It's – " she looked at her watch, "—almost half-past two – in the _morning!_ It's against the school rules, Malfoy."

This time Draco did roll his eyes. "And you're telling me that throughout your first six years at this school you didn't break any rules? You're telling me that you didn't cost Gryffindor plenty house points."

Granger's witty retort (or so Draco assumed) was cut off as she let out a loud yawn. "That's not the point, Malfoy," she said, sleep creeping slowly into her voice.

Draco raised his eyebrows, "Then what is?"

"Point is that you're Head Boy now, and you need to take rules and ethics seriously. As do I, seeing that I'm Head Girl."

Malfoy pulled out a cupcake from the box and was about to take a bite from it, when he looked at Granger. "Do you want some?" He really hoped she'd say no, he wasn't sure his stomach would be satisfied if he didn't have enough food.

"Were you even listening to me?" the Granger girl was obviously annoyed. Draco took that for a 'no', and bit deep into his cupcake. He leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes, munching on his cupcake. He swallowed. Within minutes it was gone. He pulled out other foodstuffs from the box, munching on them. Twixy hadn't packed too much. Just enough for a midnight snack. Well, a two-hours-past-midnight snack.

The scent had obviously wafted over to Granger, who looked at the box curiously and asked, "What do you have there?"

Draco shrugged. "See for yourself." He pushed the box over to her, and she peered inside. She looked up at him. "Can I have something?"

"I asked, didn't I?" Draco grumbled. Granger took out a cupcake. This one had pink icing on it with a red cherry on top.

She bit into it. "Mm, this is good," she murmured. She pushed her parchment aside – probably so that she wouldn't get any crumbs on it.

"What's on that parchment there, Granger?" he asked. "Not that I care," he added.

She ignored his last comment and replied, "It's my essay for Ancient Runes."

Draco nodded. "It's due tomorrow," he stated. Perhaps that was why she was working until so late.

To his surprise, Granger shook her head. "No, next week."

Draco was surprised. Very surprised. He chose not to say anything, and finished off the last remains off his water in a few sips. His snacks were all finished, but he was rather content. Granger doing her homework reminded Draco of how he used to be. Not staying up until the early of the morning finishing tasks that were due only the following week, no, but doing homework everyday. All he ever did now was read the textbooks. His essays were done half-heartedly, his projects lacked zest. His grades were falling. He doubted he placed second in their year anymore.

There were one too many things in his life that needed changing. His academic life, his appearance, his personality – it all needed to be brushed up. Draco wondered what he was missing out, and after a few moments he had his answer: a social life. But seconds later, he discarded the thought like a used tissue. He didn't really need a social life, did he? Pansy Parkinson was really a foul, conniving girl, and she didn't think that Draco was worthy of her company anymore – after the war, that is. Not that that mattered. The feeling was completely mutual.

And then there was Blaise. He was a good person, unlike Crabbe – Merlin rest his soul – or Goyle. Blaise used to have time for Draco. Blaise had tried for such a long period of time, and Draco had barely registered his efforts. After a while, Blaise gave up.

So who did that leave?

Twixy?

No, de didn't really need a social life. He could do perfectly fine without one. Although, there are times –

A soft snore cut off his thoughts, and Draco blinked open his eyes. He hadn't realized that he'd closed them. Granger had fallen off to sleep, her half-eaten cupcake lying on her chest. The icing had unfortunately smeared her chin and her pyjama top, but really, who asked her to fall off to sleep?

Draco realized that he, too, should be heading off to bed now. He glanced at his watch. Three o'clock. He stood up from the couch and stretched. He turned and walked towards his room. Something stopped him though. Did he forget something? A book, perhaps?

He turned around. No, it wasn't a book. It was a gnawing sense of guilt as he subconsciously realized that Granger was twisted into an awfully uncomfortable position, and when she woke up, she'd be sore all over. Did he care? Probably not. Perhaps it was the fact that he didn't want to face a torrent of angry, accusing words falling from her mouth when they both got up, telling him that he should have done something. Yes, perhaps that was it.

He sighed, and walked toward where she was sleeping. He removed the cupcake from her chest, trying desperately not to touch any part of her. He saw the icing on her pyjama top and her chin and wondered whether he should do something about it. Did he really have to? No, not really. But there was that guilt again! He looked for a tissue or something to wipe the icing off her face, and when he couldn't find anything, he sighed again. Now what?

He didn't want to use her pyjama top, because that would lead to her exposing skin. Draco shuddered at the thought. He didn't want to use his hands either, because that would mean touching her. He suppressed another shudder. He looked down at his own clothes. He was wearing an Ed Hardy shirt! He grimaced as he lifted the corner of his shirt and gingerly wiped Granger's chin. He winced.

He decided not to wipe off the icing on her top. That would be too...intrusive . He flicked his wand, and Granger's parchment, reference books, textbooks and quills got deposited onto the centre table. _Let her think that she put it there_, Draco thought. Now, for Granger herself. Using his wand, he levitated Granger's unconscious body so that it rose above the couch. Draco tried to direct it with his wand so that Granger would end up in a sleeping position, but it wouldn't work.

He had hoped it wouldn't come to this.

"_Liberacorpus_," he whispered again, and her body fell down onto the couch into the same position it was previously, only this time, slumped forward. Draco winced. Did he wake her up?

Granger continued to snore softly.

Evidently not.

Draco rubbed his hands together absent-mindedly. He leaned forwards and grabbed her sleeves, trying to direct her arms. He tugged at the sides of the pyjama top, then at the pants, careful not to touch her, until _finally_ she was in a sleeping position. He let out a long breath. He hadn't realized he'd been holding it.

"_Accio spare blanket_," he whispered again, and he heard a cupboard door open and close somewhere, and saw the blanket zooming towards him. He caught it, and covered Granger.

He straightened, and walked towards his bedroom. He looked back once, proud of his handiwork. He hadn't touched her once.

After he had settled himself into his bed, and punched the pillow a few times to make it seem more comfortable, he rested his head on his pillow, and withing moments, his snores joined the other girl's snores.

-------------------------------------------------------to be continued---------------------------------------------------------

_**LOL, you thought the "beginning of love" part meant Dramione, right? Sorry! No, it was really the elves, Tipsy and Doppy.**_

_**If you think this chapter deserves a review, please do! **_


	9. Soothing

----------------------------------------------------------SOOTHING-------------------------------------------------------------

At first guess, it was about seven o' clock in the morning. Was it a Friday or a Saturday? If it was a Friday then Hermione was extremely late for school; but if it was a Saturday, she was up really early. Which one was it? As her senses became more alert, a familiar scent reached wafted through Hermione's nostrils. She inhaled deeply. It smelt so ... _nice_. Definitely familiar. She racked the corners of her whirlwind of a mind to place the scent, but it was to no avail. Her thoughts were too hazy. The scent was sharp, with a hint of freshness about it, and it soothed her, calming her down.

She opened her eyes slowly, and the first thing to greet her sight was a deep green, woolly blanket covering her. She hadn't realized how warm and comforting the blanket was until she actually became aware it. She snuggled further into the blanket, shying away from the biting cold. The scent hit her again, and she realized where it was coming from: the blanket. She buried her nose in the blanket, breathing in its scent slowly. _Ah._

_Wait a second_, Hermione stopped breathing. _Where did this blanket come from?_ Surely if she owned this blanket she wouldn't have been so obsessed with this wonderful scent? She pulled the blanket away from her face and took in her surroundings. She definitely wasn't in her bedroom, nor was she in anyone else's. Then she saw the fireplace and the crimson couches. So she was in the Common Room! How did she get here?

She sat up – from the couch – and wiped blearily at her eyes. She looked down at herself and was shocked to realize that she was still in her clothes from yesterday! How bizarre. _I must have fallen off to sleep then_, she surmised. She patted her clothes absent-mindedly, and felt a stickiness on her jersey. She pulled her jersey away from her skin to get a better look at the source of the stickiness. A white substance of sorts. Hmmm, wonder where that came from?

She jumped up from the couch, startling Crookshanks who was curled up in a ball at Hermione's feet. "Sorry, Crookshanks," Hermione whispered, bending down to pat her cat affectionately.

A door opened to Hermione's left, and she turned her head. So Malfoy had also just gotten up.

"Morning," Hermione said, a small smile on her face. Today, she would try to be nice.

Malfoy nodded at her, and ducked his head so that she couldn't see his face. Why wouldn't he look at her? Malfoy walked to their small kitchen. He popped open the fridge, and pulled out the bottle of pumpkin juice. With his back turned to her, he poured himself a tall glass, and gulped down the whole thing in a few seconds.

Even though Malfoy had practically insulted her (again) by not replying, Hermione tried again. "Do you know how I came to be here on this couch?" she asked, motioning towards the couch she had been sleeping on.

"Nope," Malfoy replied shortly. He was pouring himself another glass of juice.

"I must have fallen off to sleep then," Hermione said, her eyes following his movements. A few moments of uncomfortable silence filled the air, and she said, "Do you know where this blanket came from, then?"

"Absolutely no idea," Malfoy replied sharply, placing his glass in the sink.

Hermione lifted her eyebrows. Why was he acting like this? Not that she wasn't used to it, but still...

"Okay, then," she said slowly. She turned around, bent down, and folded the blanket. When she was done, she placed it neatly on the couch. "Well, it's certainly not mine. I only have red blankets, to co-ordinate with my house colours ..." she trailed off, as a sudden thought flew into her mind. She banished it as soon as it came, knowing that the idea was utterly implausible.

Malfoy didn't say anything – surprise, surprise – instead, he walked right passed her. Hermione breathed in sharply. His scent encompassed her, and she almost staggered backwards. The fresh, clean scent crawled slowly up her nostrils. The blanket...the blanket's _scent_ – it matched perfectly to Malfoy's.

So it was his blanket. Why would he lie?

Draco walked towards their bathroom, pausing before he turned the knob. He twisted his head slightly, so that she would know that his next few words were directed at her. "You're going to be late," he said lightly. He didn't want to see her, to face her. His life before now had been in such a mess, he was surprised that no one had thrown it into the rubbish bin. He still looked like a mess, and he couldn't let _any_ female look at him – even if it was just this Granger girl.

The girl didn't seem to hear what he said, because she replied differently, her words causing Draco to stiffen slightly. "And do you know how I got this sticky substance on my jersey? I only noticed it this morning." Her tone was casual, light, but Draco was clever enough to know that she was getting irritated with him with all of his non-answers. He knew people. Yet, he couldn't tell her the truth.

He placed his hand on the knob, turning it. The door swung open. "No, Granger, I don't."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, even though she knew he couldn't see her. Fine, but she knew he was lying. She knew people.

* * *

Muggle Studies was fourth period. Hermione was practically trembling head to toe with excitement. She hurried to the classroom, and waited outside, joining the end of the line. Professor Pinkle wasn't there yet, so the class was filing outside the door along the wall. Hermione chatted amicably with Dean, discussing the homework. Hermione felt someone stand behind her. This wasn't unusual, as there were still plenty more students to come, so Hermione ignored the person and continued to talk to Dean.

"Hermione!" someone called out. Hermione automatically turned around to see who was calling her. Draco Malfoy was the person standing behind her. Hermione's eyes widened slightly, and then narrowed, as his she smelt his scent. Bloody annoying scent. Malfoy looked at her coolly and said, "I decided to come today."

Hermione nodded. "I can see that. But thanks for pointing it out," she smiled sweetly at him.

Mild surprise at her blatant use of sarcasm filled his eyes momentarily, and before Hermione could count to three, it was gone.

"Hermione!"

Hermione turned her head, and found Ronald at her side. "Morning, Ronald," she smiled – genuinely, this time. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Ron scratched his nose, and said, "You left one of your books in Harry's and my dormitory the other day, and I forgot to give it back to you." He pulled out a thick book from his bag, handing it to her.

Hermione glanced at the cover, and let out a squeal. "I thought I lost it!" she said, a broad grin on her face. She cradled the book to her chest, sighing. She hugged Ron. "Thank you," she said.

Ron licked his lips, glancing around. "Er, right," he said. "Well, I need to go, you know. I'm late for class." He withdrew from their hug. He glanced at Malfoy, and narrowed his eyes slightly. He pulled Hermione to the side, and whispered in her ear, "Stay _away_ from him, Hermione."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and was about to say something, when Malfoy said, "Let me assure you, Weasley, that my hearing is perfect."

_It's a wonder you act deaf all the time_, Hermione thought scathingly.

Ron's ears turned red, and he stepped menacingly forward. "You lay _one _hand on her, you git..."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I do not intend to do any such thing, Weasley," he replied sharply.

Ron hadn't moved from his position. Hermione tugged on his arm. "Ronald, you're getting late, why don't you just –"

Her words were cut off by the clickety-clack of high-heeled shoes against the polished floor. "I don't remember _you_ being in my class, _dear_!" Professor Pinkle's high-pitched voice called out to Ron.

"I'm not in your class, Professor," Ron replied, still glaring at Malfoy.

"Would you like to join then, sweetheart?" she giggled. Ron closed his eyes briefly, concentrating on ridding his ears from the painful sound of the professor's voice.

"No, Professor," Ron replied, facing Professor Pinkle.

"Very well then," she replied. "In you go, class."

"How do you handle it?" he muttered in an undertone to Hermione. Hermione suppressed a smile. "Go, Ronald." She leaned forward, and placed a light kiss on his cheek. She didn't notice his ears brighten. She also didn't notice Malfoy observing them both.

Ron muttered a 'goodbye' then hurtled down the corridor to his class. Hermione followed Dean into the classroom and took her place next to him in the front.

Once the class had settled down completely, and only a few people were whispering to each other, Professor Pinkle beamed brightly at them all, her sparkly white teeth all but blinding Hermione. "Well, children," she started, "I have some _excellent_ news for you that I'm sure you're all going to _love_." She laughed loudly, and when she caught a few people staring at her blankly, her laughter subsided, and she cleared her throat. She plastered the smile back onto her face. "Auditions for _Snow White and her Prince Charming_ will start _tomorrow!_"

Hermione sat up straighter in her seat. She raised her hand. Professor Pinkle shot her a wide smile. "Yes, my dear?"

"Professor, tomorrow is too short notice. What if we don't have time to practise?"

Professor Pinkle laughed. "Nonsense! Just throw something together, and all will be fine." She stared at the class again, and Hermione shook her head, irritated. "If you want, children, I can give you this lesson to go to the library –"

The students immediately stood up, and rushed out of the classroom, the rest of the professor's sentence dying. Draco was the last person to leave the classroom, walking at his own steady pace.

Professor Pinkle looked at him, and said, "And I trust that _you_, Mr Malfoy, will be auditioning?"

Draco tried to smile politely, but couldn't. "Sorry, Professor, but I won't be."

Professor Pinkle's face fell. "Why not?" she asked unhappily.

Draco shook his head. "I just won't be, Professor. Sorry." He walked out of the classroom, slinging his bag over his shoulder, leaving behind another person whom he'd hurt.

Instead of heading to the library, he walked in the opposite direction. Two minutes later, he was outside the door of the school's fitness centre. _"Alohomora,"_ he whispered. He heard a _click_, and he opened the door. The torches lining the walls of the room, lit up at his entrance. He dropped his schoolbag on the floor, and walked over to one of the machines. All of the fitness machines were, of course, non-electronic, but they were powered by magic instead.

Draco realized that he needed to get into shape. He looked scrawny, and after quitting Quidditch, his body had lost its manly appeal. The machine he climbed onto – a treadmill, he thought it was called – had been magically enhanced. Such that, when you ran on it, your surroundings changed. You could change the setting from forest, to road, to mountain, anything. He tapped a few buttons, and when he looked around, the walls of the gymnasium had disappeared, and now he was on a road.

He ran. He ran and ran. Faster and faster he went, throwing off all his frustration, irritation and anger. The wind played violently with his clothes. He felt the blood pounding in his head, and sweat dripped down his face, down his back, down his chest. He could hear the _thud, thud_ of his heart. He focused on the sound of his heartbeat and nothing else. He didn't know for how long he ran. Fourth period was probably over. Fifth period, too. But still, he ran.

He glanced at his watch. He'd been running for two hours. He slowed down into a jog, and then stopped. As soon as he stopped, his surroundings shifted. He was back in the gymnasium. He collapsed on the cool tiled floor, breathing heavily. Even though he was thoroughly exhausted, he felt free. The tension had left him. He closed his eyes, and felt his heartbeats slow down. He got up from his place on the floor.

He knew that his body would be in much pain tomorrow, but he didn't care.

He had things to do.

* * *

At six o'clock, Draco headed towards the Slytherin Common Room. He muttered the password, and stepped in. The Common Room was just as he remembered it, yet no sense of nostalgia washed over him. There were groups of people huddled in their own separate groups, talking in low tones. As soon as Draco stepped into the room, however, all talking stopped.

Pansy Parkinson stood up from her place on the couch. "What the hell are you doing here?" she hissed at him, not caring if everyone could hear her. She was probably going to try to humiliate Draco in front of the people who used to worship him. Draco didn't flinch at the loaded venom in her voice. He stared at her, narrowing his eyes slightly. "I'm looking for Zabini," he replied smoothly. He wouldn't let her win whatever game she thought she was playing.

Parkinson smirked. "You don't belong here, _Draco_," she said, a bitter smile on her face. "Get out."

Everybody had stopped what they were doing. Their eyes bounced between Parkinson and the Malfoy, waiting to see who would attack first.

Draco took a step forward. "I belong here as much as anybody else, Parkinson. Don't you dare try to dictate to me."

Parkinson let out a fake laugh. "So what, Malfoy? You think you're our master? You want me to bow down before you and kiss your precious feet?" She took a step forward, and smiled wickedly at him. "I don't think so."

Draco drew in a breath, and tried to think of happy thoughts. Strangely enough, an image of the Granger girl came to mind. He brushed away the thought. It was probably because Parkinson's anger was so akin to Granger's. "Where is Zabini, Parkinson? Tell me now, and I'll leave you alone."

"Promises, promises," Parkinson spat. She stalked forward, her movements rigid. She stopped when she was a few feet away from him. "Get _out_, Malfoy. This isn't your home anymore," she snarled.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "It never was," he whispered harshly.

"What's going on here?" a male voice called out. Draco knew that voice. He turned. His former friend stood at the foot of the stairs leading up to the boy' dormitories.

"Look who decided to drop in, Blaise," Parkinson said scathingly, jerking her head in Draco's direction.

"Draco," Blaise said, surprise etched into his voice. His eyebrows were raised. "What are you doing here?" The contrast between Parkinson's tone and Blaise's was so pronounced, that Draco relaxed. Blaise was merely surprised.

"I came to see you, actually," Draco said, observing Blaise, analyzing his body language. Parkinson's eyes were shooting between the two boys. She looked at the people around her, observing the three of them. "What are you all looking at!" she barked. "Get back to your work!"

A few people rolled their eyes, but because they didn't want to start anything with Parkinson, they let it slide, and went back to their work.

Parkinson swivelled her head around to face the two boys. "Why don't _you_ tell Draco to leave, Blaise? He's obviously deaf to my words." She glared menacingly at Draco.

Draco stared at her coldly.

Blaise said, "There's no need to do that, Pansy. Draco's welcome here anytime."

Draco shook his head slowly at Blaise.

"What?" Blaise asked.

"You all act as if this place is _yours_; as if I haven't lived here for most of my adolescence . That this is your home, and I'm just a visitor."

Parkinson tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "_Act_, Malfoy? You _are _just a visitor. An unwelcome one. Now. Get. _Out._"

"Enough, Pansy," Blaise said, his eyes never straying from Draco's. "Draco, why don't you come with me?" Blaise didn't wait for an answer. He walked up the stairs he had just come down, and Malfoy followed him.

Blaise opened the door to his room. It was just him in this room. Draco no longer lived in here. Blaise motioned towards the couch. "Please sit. Make yourself at home." Draco ignored Blaise's last comment, and took a seat. Blaise sat down on his bed, waiting for Draco to say something.

Draco looked down at his hands. What to say? How to begin?

"Sorry," he decided on saying. Blaise nodded. He seemed to know what Draco was talking about, and Draco was thankful for that. He didn't want to explain himself.

"It's fine, man. People go through rough patches. What did you want to see me for?" he asked, cutting straight to the point.

Draco licked his lips nervously. What if Blaise said no? He stared right back at Blaise. He cleared his throat, yet his voice still came out a bit mangled. "I would like to know if it is at all possible ... if I could ..." Draco trailed off, not sure if he should explain himself first. Damn, he hated explaining.

"Spit it out, man," Blaise said.

"I want to play Quidditch again," Draco said, gritting his teeth. He mentally crossed his fingers.

Blaise's eyebrows shot up. "Sorry, what?"

"Please don't make me repeat myself."

"I heard you. I just cannot believe you."

Draco didn't say anything. He just waited.

"Why?" Blaise asked, his eyes filled with curiosity.

"I miss it," he replied simply.

Blaise regarded him for a moment or two, trying to weigh the amount of earnestness in Draco's voice. He stared at Draco for quite some time, and sighed. "You start tomorrow."

Draco wanted to smile. He really did. This was one of the few moments in his life that actually warmed his heart a little, yet he couldn't smile. "Thank you," he said, trying to inflict as much gratification into his voice as possible.

"No problem. One condition, though," Blaise said seriously.

Draco became wary. "Which is?"

"Don't up and leave us again, okay?"

Draco sighed. "Sorry about that."

Blaise shook his head, smiling slightly. "Drop it, Draco."

Draco nodded and stood up. Blaise, too, stood up. Draco walked across, and held out his hand. Blaise smiled, and shook it. "Welcome back."

* * *

Once Draco had left, Pansy glared resentfully at Blaise. "You let him back on the team? How foolish, Blaise," she muttered insultingly. She walked over to stand next to him, and crossed her arms.

Blaise stared at the door out of which Draco had just walked. "I don't think so, Pans. I have a gut feeling that he won't leave us again."

"_Gut feeling_?" Pansy repeated. "The same gut feeling that told you that even though Lucius and Narcissa got imprisoned, that Draco wouldn't turn cold on all of us? That gut feeling, Blaise?"

"Shut up, Pansy," Blaise snapped. "I know what I'm doing."

Pansy tilted her head and looked at him thoughtfully. She placed a small hand on his shoulder, and he looked at her. "Are you scared of getting hurt again?" she asked him softly.

Blaises nodded stiffly. Pansy pulled him into a warm embrace. "Me too," she whispered, her voice breaking. Blaise wrapped his arms around her, stroking her hair.

* * *

"Dragon fire," he said clearly. The portrait door swung forward, and he hopped in. He looked around. Granger wasn't in the Common Room. He heard soft music playing. She had left her radio on. Again.

Draco sighed, but decided not to do or say anything. Did she take that radio with her everywhere? The music came from the bathroom. He sat on the couch, paging through one of his textbooks, trying to drown out the music. The music became louder, and Draco found it difficult to concentrate on the words before him. He had read the same sentence three times already.

As the music became louder, Draco became more irritated. He stalked towards the door, and was about to rap loudly on it, when he heard singing. It sounded so...peaceful, even at loud tones. It brought back memories from the past, and Draco lowered his fist. The voice of the singer on the radio painted images that were so welcome to Draco that he didn't dare try to stop them from coming in. The beautiful images flooded his mind, and he surrendered. The chorus came, and the power of the singer's voice enthralled Draco. He closed his eyes, and sank to the floor, leaning his head against the door. He listened.

And listened.

A sweet melody. It was as if magic had invaded the singer's voice. Draco thought of his mother. And of his father. He thought of his childhood. He thought of the previous year. And this time he didn't cry. He didn't tense up. He didn't feel angry. He didn't feel stressed. The sweet, gentle music prevented that.

And then it stopped. Draco's eyes shot open. Where did the music go? He waited a few seconds for it to start again, but it didn't. The voice of misery tried to cut through, but he forced it out. Where did the music go? He silently pleaded for more. His prayers were half answered. He heard humming instead. That would have to do. His fingers tapped against the floor, creating a beat. If only he had his guitar with him. But that, he'd burned to splinters.

The door suddenly opened, and he fell backwards. He scrambled to his feet, and came face to face with Granger. Her hair was dripping wet and she was wrapped in a towel. She glared at him. "Malfoy! What on earth are you doing here?" she screeched.

Draco tried to think quickly. "I... fell off to sleep."

Granger blinked her eyes. "On the floor outside the bathroom door?" she asked disbelievingly.

"Of course," Draco said. "Listen, Granger," he said.

"What?" she snapped.

"Where's that radio of yours?"

"In my room, Malfoy. Why?"

Draco was shocked, but didn't show it. Where did the music come from, then? "Do you have any other devices that play music, Granger?" he asked.

"_No_, Malfoy. Now, do you mind? I need to change."

"Then where was that music coming from?" Draco asked, ignoring her comment.

Granger suddenly dipped her head to look at the floor. "That was me," she replied quietly.

Draco felt his eyes widen. He didn't care if the shock was visible on his face. That was _Granger's_ voice? The sound of _Granger's_ voice had left him so enchanted? He found it very hard to believe. She looked up at him then, and seeing the shock on his face, misunderstood. "Was it that awful?" she asked, biting her lip.

Draco cleared his throat. "Not really," he said. He had become really good at telling lies. Even though Granger's singing deserved much higher praise than that, he wouldn't say anything. "Not really," he repeated.

She sighed. "I really want to get the part of Snow White," she said sadly.

So that was why she was singing. She was practising. Draco saw an open door. "Why don't you practise some more then?" he asked, trying to sound indifferent. "It couldn't hurt you."

Granger looked up at him, tilting her head to the side. "Maybe you're right, Malfoy. Practising won't hurt me."

She strode away from him, and closed the door behind her. "Practising definitely won't hurt me either," he whispered to himself, settling into the couch. He waited for her singing to start.

---------------------------------------------------------to be continued-------------------------------------------------------

_**A/**_**N: So sorry about the late update, but please expect it from now on. I'm absolutely loaded with homework, so I wrote this chapter for all those who seem to really like this story. Thanks for your amazing reviews. Really, thank you.**

**Auditions start in the next chapter.**


	10. Auditions

----------------------------------------------------------AUDITIONS-------------------------------------------------------------

Draco had fallen off to sleep on the couch to that girl's singing. He looked down at his uncovered body and mentally scoffed. She hadn't even covered him with a blanket, when he had so courteously done it for her just two days ago. But then again, how was she to know that he had covered her? He picked up his wand from the table, pointed it at the curtains, and flicked it. The curtains pulled apart from each other, and a picture of bright blue sky shot forwards to meet Draco's eyes. Draco inwardly smiled. Today was going to be a perfect day for Quidditch.

He sat up, and groaned. Pain shot through almost every part of his body. How would he be able to perform at his best at the practice? The team would think he was useless. He would just have to endure it. He got to his feet, and crossed the room to the windows. He flipped the latch, and the windows were thrown open. A delightful gentle breeze sailed through, and Draco squinted at the blood-orange sun. Not a cloud in sight.

A perfect day indeed.

His watch read six o'clock. Practice was at ten.

A thought stopped him cold.

He had no broomstick. He had burned everything he had owned, everything that had brought joy to his life; he had burned that all to nothing. Before he had been able to cast a Repair Spell, he had flung it all into the fire. He closed his eyes, resting his thumb and index finger on the bridge of his nose, thinking. What could he do? He couldn't use one of the school's broomsticks. That would be shameful. It wouldn't even show what potential he had.

He opened his eyes, staring at the Black Lake. A large tentacle broke the surface, and danced in mid-air before sinking back into the deep waters.

What were his options?

Just then, Granger entered the Common Room. He glanced at her. Her hair was all over the place, and she looked more awake than an animal in hibernation. He realized that he shouldn't really be commenting on her outward appearance seeing that, presently, he hardly had one of his own.

She played with a tendril of her hair distractedly, and walked towards their little kitchen. Draco didn't think that she had noticed him yet. She had taken out a packet of biscuits from one of the cupboards, and was now making herself coffee. With milk. She had milk with her coffee. Draco felt his mouth turn down at one corner. Which sane person had milk with their coffee? That would taste disgusting.

It was when she was carefully measuring level teaspoons of coffee and dropping them into her cup that he decided to say something. "Granger," he started, keen to see how she'd react. She didn't disappoint. She jumped, letting out a muffled startled noise, and accidentally let a heaped teaspoon of coffee slide into her cup.

She whirled around to face him; and Draco took on a blank expression. "Malfoy!" she complained. "Now I have one too many teaspoons of bloody coffee in my cup!"

He didn't say anything. What could he say? The girl turned back to her cup and emptied its contents into the sink. She started again.

"Granger," he said again.

"What?" Granger growled.

"What time does Hogsmeade open?"

"How would I bloody know?" she grumbled, pouring hot water into her cup.

Draco felt like laughing, but seeing that he couldn't ... well, he couldn't. "You must know," he insisted.

He heard her sigh. He watched as she poured the milk into the cup, and he suppressed a shudder. "It opens at nine, Malfoy."

That was perfect, then.

Draco nodded his thanks, even though he knew she couldn't see him. He didn't feel like voicing his thanks. She walked to the couch with her cup of steaming coffee and her biscuits. She looked up at him. "Do you want anything?" Was that reluctance in her voice?

"No, I can help myself," he said. He crossed the room, and tried not to limp or hobble. His legs really hurt. He blocked the pain, and entered the kitchen. He looked at the bottle of coffee. Empty.

"Granger," he spat.

"What, now?"

"The coffee is finished," he stated.

"You know, Malfoy, many would envy your eyesight," he heard her say. He gritted his teeth. "Next time, don't startle me so, and then maybe you'll have some coffee for yourself."

* * *

He had his sack of Galleons in his pocket, and he was walking through Hogsmeade. Seeing that it was a Saturday, the place was rather busy. He avoided touching anyone – old ladies who shuffled passed him, children whose screeching laughter almost made Draco turn around and head back to the school, drunken men who swaggered clumsily. Hogsmeade was thick with people, and it made him feel uncomfortable.

He stopped outside the store he specifically came to shop at. He looked up at the intimidating building, and he felt his heart warm. The italic gold lettering glittered in the sunlight and welcomed him. It was a new store – well, new to him definitely. When last had he been to Hogsmeade?

However, just before his parents had ... left ... Blaise had told him that there was a new broomstick store in Hogsmeade, and Draco remembered how he had felt mildly excited at the thought of getting a new broomstick that would look better than everybody else's.

Now he just wanted a broomstick – not one that would look better than everybody else's – one that would truly gave him a sense of liberation, one that would give him the adrenalin rush that he used to embrace with open arms, one that would make him forget about raw wounds.

He opened the doors, nodding at the security guard. The store had three floors. What for, Draco didn't know – he would probably only be on the first floor. He hurried to the assistant desk. A lady with light auburn hair had her head bent over a piece of parchment, and she was scribbling furiously across it.

"Excuse me," Draco said softly, hoping not to startle the girl.

The woman looked up, and Draco caught his breath. Her dark brown eyes widened in shock, and then she blinked, and attempted a smile. "Draco," she said in a quiet voice. "It's been too long." Her eyes briefly glinted.

Draco continued to stare at her, dozens of memories rushing back. He almost reached out a hand to touch her, but held back. After some time, when the girl's smile had turned into a soft frown, he said calmly, "Astoria."

She carried on looking at him, and Draco didn't know what to say. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I trust you received my letter?"

She looked away from him then, her gaze falling upon a couple marvelling at a broom set. "I was terribly sad to hear about your parents, Draco," she said in reply. "Sorry," she added.

_She hasn't changed_, Draco thought. Her hair was now only reaching her shoulders as opposed to her waist, but she still looked the same. Draco wondered briefly how he looked. He couldn't run away yet.

"What are you doing _here_, though?" he asked out of genuine curiosity.

"It's our half-year holiday now – back in Australia. I thought I'd do a bit of world touring, and Britain was the first place I thought of," she said, her gaze returning to him, looking at him meaningfully.

He cleared his throat. "I need a new broomstick," he said, by way of changing the topic.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she got up from her seat. "Do you mind finishing off this letter, Galorina?" she asked the girl next to her. The girl – Galorina – nodded, and Astoria walked around the counter so that she was on the same side as Draco. She had also grown a bit. Just a bit.

Astoria squared her shoulders and began walking to the corner of the shop. Draco followed her silently. She pointed towards a slick broomstick that was bent slightly at the end. "This is from one of our top ranges. Its fastest speed is three hundred and fifty kilometres per hour –" Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise, impressed, "—and is very easily maintained." Draco nodded. "It's made from a very unique tree- there are only two of its kind. Why didn't you reply to any of my letters?" The abrupt change of topic caught Draco off guard, and he didn't know if he had imagined her last question. He chose not to say anything.

Astoria shot a look over her shoulder. "I asked a question."

So he hadn't imagined it. "I...I didn't reply to anybody's letters, if that makes a difference." This was true.

"No, it doesn't," came her sharp reply. Before Draco could say anything else, she said, "This broomstick is made from Muggle cherry wood, yet it's been magically enhanced to such a state that it can better the Firebolt. Its speed averages at about two hundred kilometres per hour, yet its powers are completely dependent on the rider." She was holding up another broomstick, looking at Draco the whole time she spoke. Draco refused to look at her; instead he pretended to marvel at the broomstick. She placed it back in its place.

"I waited, you know, for months, for at least _one_ reply. How could you, Draco?" She didn't let him reply. "We were going out for a whole year, you know that? Did you know that the day you sent that letter happened to mark the one year for us? No, I guess you didn't. I was expecting something romantic, you know?"

Draco didn't know what to say.

Astoria pointed at another broomstick that looked slightly vintage-styled. "This broomstick is unique in that it is a combination of classes from a few centuries ago, and the century that we're presently in. It took approximately a year to make, so I can assure you that it is not flimsy. It travels at an impressive two hundred and seventy kilometres per hour. However it doesn't turn easily. The rider has to be extremely _strong_, and he has to _know_ what he's doing." Draco tried to ignore the double meaning in the last sentence.

"Look, Astoria, I don't have enough time..." He had roughly half an hour left until ten.

"That's always the case, isn't it?" she smiled bitterly at him. They walked in silence. She stopped before another broomstick, yet if she hadn't stopped, Draco would have done so just to admire the sheer beauty the broomstick possessed. It looked powerful. It looked majestic. He could see himself on it. "And then there's this. It travels at a speed of –"

"I'll buy it," he said, staring at the broomstick. He ran a finger gently across the broomstick's handle. So smooth.

Astoria blinked. "Don't you want to know anything about it?"

"Not at all," he replied. This was the broom. He could tell. At the end of the broomstick, in delicate silver lettering, read the words Whip-Crack. He wasn't too impressed with the name – it sounded ridiculous – but he didn't care. "I'll buy it," he repeated.

Astoria shrugged, and he followed her back to the counter, the broomstick over his shoulder.

"One thousand Galleons, please," she said, her hand held out before her.

Draco nodded, and took out his sack of Galleons. He had packed exactly one thousand Galleons. He handed the sack to her, and she waved her wand at it. A second later, the number "1 000" appeared at the tip of her wand. She nodded at him. "You're good to go."

He was just about to turn around, when something stopped him. He looked at her, _really_ looked at her, and said quietly, "Take care, Astoria."

She narrowed her eyes at him, and turned around to talk to one of the shop assistants.

Draco sighed and turned around. He still had to buy a Quidditch outfit as well.

* * *

He jogged to the Quidditch field, and was there at ten o'clock on the dot. The pain that spiralled through his body he hardly noticed. The rest of the team was assembled in a tight circle around Blaise Zabini. They hadn't noticed Draco yet.

"Why would you invite him back—?"

"He's going to quit again—"

"He has probably forgotten how to play—"

"What were you thinking, Zabini—?"

"Now we're going to _lose_ –"

Draco was shocked at all these comments. To spare Blaise the trouble of explaining anything, he cleared his throat loudly. They stopped talking, and turned around to face him. All but one sported the same hostile expression. Some crossed their arms over their muscled chests.

Blaise walked towards him. "Draco," he said, a hesitant smile on his face, "you're here."

Draco nodded. He scanned the looks of his former friends. None of them looked all that friendly. Draco took a step forward, and someone let out a low snarl. Blaise shot a look at the boy. "Grayson, that is unnecessary."

Draco clenched his jaw, and walked towards the group.

"You'll be taking your former position as Seeker, Draco," Blaise instructed. Draco nodded.

Draco caught someone – Rellis Glirt – staring at his broomstick. "Is that a... is that a _Whip-Crack_?" Awe coloured his voice. The boy next to him elbowed him roughly. "What?" Rellis said defensively. "Just because we don't have to talk to _him,_ doesn't mean we can't admire the _broomstick_. Patrick, it's a _Whip-Crack_."

"And so?" the boy named Patrick said. "My mother is buying me that next month." He cocked his head, facing Draco. "Oh, Draco," he said mock-pityingly, "You don't _have _a mother to buy your things, do you? You bought that?"

"Patrick, ten laps around the field. Go. We _never _disrespect another team player," Blaise barked out. Patrick smirked, and he started his laps. Draco clenched his fists tightly. "In the air, everyone. Now." Before Draco could mount his broom, Blaise placed a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to do this, you know."

"I know, but I want to." He kicked off from the ground.

The broomstick was more than he could have asked for. It gave him everything and more. He was able to ignore all the insulting comments shot his way. He focused on the power of the broom that turned at his will. He focused on its speed. He focused on himself. And then he saw a glint of gold. Rushing forward, the broom faster than the speed of light, he curled his fingers around the snitch.

He hadn't lost it. He could still play. He hadn't lost it.

* * *

_Meanwhile, in the Great Hall_

Professor Pinkle stared at the five people seated before her. She licked her lips, and held up her hand to look at her watch. It was ten-past-ten. "Ahem, well, seeing that there we are already ten minutes into audition time, I suppose we should start." She looked at one of the boys and asked him, "Do you know if there are any more people coming?"

The boy shook his head.

Professor Pinkle heaved a deep sigh. "Very well." She looked down at her clipboard. "Donovan Relney, you're up first."

Hermione hadn't seen the professor look so unenthusiastic before. She hadn't even smiled. Hermione glanced around her. Besides herself, there were only four other people. A proper musical required a large cast. Five was a very dismal number.

Donovan Relney conjured a few instruments from his wand, and as soon as the instruments started playing by themselves, he started singing. And Professor Pinkle wished he would stop. He let out a few shaky notes, missed out words, and inserted his own lyrics. A few of the students coughed to hide their laughter, and Hermione glared at them. At least Donovan had the nerve to sing.

Professor Pinkle clapped her hands. She smiled sweetly up at Donovan who was shivering with fear. "Right, my dear, you can go now." The poor seventh year ran off immediately.

The next few auditions went off just like the first one – horrible, tasteless and disappointing. Well, according to Professor Pinkle. Just before Hermione got up from her seat to have her turn, Professor Pinkle sighed loudly. She stood up, and faced the few students. "I'm sorry to say, children, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to postpone ... auditions." Hermione's jaw dropped open. "I'm going to find another means of doing this. Surely this cannot be the talent of the school."

"Professor, I haven't even had a turn yet!" Hermione cried out.

Professor Pinkle smiled at her, almost all of her teeth showing. "I'm sorry, dear, time is up."

"It's only been _ten_ minutes, Professor. You scheduled the whole day."

Professor Pinkle fidgeted with her blouse. "Right, then, toodle-doo," and she walked right out of the Great Hall.

Hermione looked down at her dress. She had wasted so much of time practising. She could've been studying during that time!

She got up from her seat, and stalked out of the Great Hall.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Monday morning arrived quicker than Hermione had hoped for. She crawled out of bed and hurried to the bathroom. She bathed in record time. Why did she get late almost every morning? After she had changed quickly into her school robes, she hurried to her room, flinging any school-related thing into her schoolbag. Admittedly, half of it needn't be in her bag, but she was running late so she didn't have time to sort through it all.

She banged open the portrait door and rushed down to the Great Hall. She spotted Harry and Ron and squeezed herself between them on the bench. She let out a long sigh.

"Morning, Hermione," Harry said, handing her a glass of juice.

"Morning, and thanks," she gulped down the juice. "So what's for breakfast?"

"Well, I think Ron finished half of it, so good luck finding something to eat," Harry said in a teasing voice.

Ron rolled his eyes, and swallowed whatever food was in his mouth. "He's lying, Hermione. Here, you're welcome to anything," he pushed his plate towards her, and Hermione's lips curled in disgust at the mounted food on his plate.

She pushed his plate back towards him. "No, thanks, Ronald," she said, not attempting to hide the disgust in her voice.

"Girls," Ron rolled his eyes, shrugging. He forked more food into his mouth. Hermione shook her head. She reached forward for a slice of toast and buttered it.

"Oh, yeah!" Harry said suddenly. "How was your audition? I didn't get to see you this week-end."

Hermione frowned. "My audition? It didn't happen. Professor Pinkle called it off."

Harry looked surprised. He sipped his juice. "Why?"

"Who knows what goes on in that woman's head?" Ron said. "Hermione, don't worry about it. Some things just aren't meant to happen."

"I know, but I was really looking forward to it. Anyway," she said, brushing toast crumbs off her cloak, "I need to get to class." She hugged them, and left. She took her time walking to her next class. She had Muggle Studies.

The door was open, and the class was buzzing.

Hermione was the last to arrive, and Professor Pinkle shot her a disapproving look. Hermione tried to look apologetic, but this professor of theirs was really starting to do a tap dance on her nerves. Hermione took her place next to Dean, mumbled a 'hello', and slumped low in her chair.

"What happened?" Dean whispered.

"Nothing," Hermione grumbled. That was the full truth of it. Nothing _had_ happened. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for another tedious lesson on electricity.

Dean, sensing that she was in a bad mood, retracted, and focused his attention on Professor Pinkle instead, who was standing at the front of the classroom holding an odd-looking, oversized ball.

Hermione stared at the large ball blocking half of Professor Pinkle's body. She was holding the ball with both of her hands, and therefore she couldn't clap her hands to call the class to attention. She looked helplessly around the classroom. "Children, children, _please_ calm down ... _ahem_, children..." Her muffled words were lost in the racket that the class was making. It was a Monday morning after all. People had to catch up with each other.

Hermione could have helped. She could have, but didn't. She could have told the professor to put the ball on the floor, but she didn't. Hermione could be very stubborn, you see, and for her, Professor Pinkle was beginning to take on the same connotation as Professor Trelawney.

However, Lavender Brown at the back of the classroom felt sorry for Professor Pinkle. For her, without Professor Pinkle, she wouldn't have been able to understand the concept of The Plug. "SHUT IT!" she yelled to the class from where she sat. Professor Pinkle sent a startled look in Lavender's direction, but the class did quieten down.

"Uhm, _thank_ you for that, Miss Brown," Professor Pinkle said happily.

Lavender beamed. "You're welcome, Professor."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She stared at the professor with bored eyes.

Professor Pinkle placed the big ball on the floor, but it started to roll sideways. She hurried over to stop it, but once she straightened up, the ball began to roll again. The professor huffed, and bent down again to stop the ball. She held her hand there for a few seconds as if mentally communicating with the ball, and then let go. The class watched as the ball remained still for a few seconds. Professor Pinkle straightened up again, but just as she did so, the ball rolled again.

"Honestly," Hermione said under her breath to Dean. "It's _spherical_. Of course it's going to roll." She took out her wand and pointed it at the ball. "_Petrificus totalus!" _she half-whispered. The ball froze, and Professor Pinkle shot Hermione a grateful look. Unlike Lavender, Hermione didn't smile widely. She simply nodded and waited for the professor to say something.

Professor Pinkle clapped her hands twice, and said loudly in an overly cheerful voice, "Right, children! I have found our solution! All of you should be familiar with the system that the Ministry implemented in your fourth year at Hogwarts. Who can tell me what happened in your fourth year?" she ended off eagerly.

Hermione sighed. How old did the professor think they were? Five? Six?

However, somebody in the back put up his hand and said in a squeaky voice, "The Triwizard Tournament!"

"That's _right!_" Professor Pinkle exclaimed. "And who can tell me what system the Ministry implemented to select the competitors?"

"The goblet of fire!" someone said.

Hermione massaged her temples gently. Where was this leading to?

"Very good!" Professor Pinkle said in her high-pitched voice. "Now, I have devised a similar system for selecting the actors and singers for the school musical, _Snow White and her Prince Charming!_"

Hermione sat up straight in her seat, alert.

Many did the exact same thing, too.

When the professor realized that she had the class's full attention, she giggled. "Yes, well, it wasn't _just_ me. I had help from the other members of the staff. Anyhoo, what I did, to make all our lives easier, I got the names of _everybody_ in the entire school to appear on individual pieces of paper, and fed them into this big ball right here which Miss Granger has so _kindly_ frozen for me. Could someone _please_ reverse the spell?"

Hermione was the first to accede to the professor's request, and she waited on the edge of her seat to find out what would happen next. Dozens of the students had expressions of awe and anticipation across their faces.

The ball started to roll again, but Professor Pinkle ignored it. "I'm going to read out the name of the character, and the name of the student who got the role will shoot out from the ball. Let me assure you that this is a completely _fair_ system, because the ball has been designed by _skilled_ people – namely myself – to select only the _best_, most _suitable_ person for the role. Of course, it's open to anyone, even if they do not take Muggle Studies. I'm going to draw the names now, so basically, you lot are the first to know about it." She smiled broadly.

Hermione's hands were starting to sweat, and she clutched them both in each other tightly, praying against Merlin's last pair of socks that she'd get the part. She bit her lip.

The professor pulled out a long piece of parchment, along with a pair of goggle-looking glasses. She put the glasses on, but half the class was too nervous too even grasp how hilarious she looked. Draco Malfoy, though, at the back, was neither nervous nor amused. Just bored.

"I will be start calling out the names now," she announced dramatically. She pointed her wand at the ball. "Snow White!" The class followed her look to the ball which was still aimlessly rolling about on the floor. Hermione crossed her fingers tightly. Something popped out from the top of the ball and zoomed straight into the professor's hands. It was a miniature version of the big ball – about half the size of a quaffle. Professor Pinkle read the name that appeared on the ball, and smiled. "Congratulations!" she exclaimed. A few students exchanged looks of confusion. She hadn't even announced who the receiver of her "congratulations" was.

She didn't have to.

The ball hovered above the professor's hands, and then zoomed at lightning speed heading for Hermione and Dean's desk. Hermione ducked, but it was too late.

The ball landed on her lap. Hermione stared at it for a second, and looked up at the professor in shock. 'Go on' the professor mouthed. The class watched as Hermione picked up the ball in her hands. As soon as she touched it, the ball turned a brilliant scarlet, and tiny (harmless) fireworks burst forth from the surface of the ball. Hermione stared at the beautiful mini-display in amazement. Once the fireworks stopped, she saw her name in black, bold letters, under the name "Snow White".

She let out a small squeal. "Thank you so much, Professor!"

Professor Pinkle smiled kindly. "Why don't we all give Miss Granger a round of applause for getting the lead role in the musical?" The class erupted in applause, and Hermione bowed her head, feeling her cheeks and ears heat up.

"Well done, Hermione!" Dean said warmly, giving her a hug. Hermione felt giddy with excitement. She clutched the ball in her hands and waited to find out the names of the rest of her fellow cast members.

Once all the applause died down, the class eagerly waited for more. The professor looked down at her parchment. "Prince Charming," she announced. Another ball zoomed out of the big ball, and landed in her hands. She looked at the name, but instead of saying "congratulations", she raised her eyebrows. Her eyes – one of the most important parts of the body when it comes to body expression – were half-concealed behind her glasses. "Ahem, well, this ought to be interesting," she said, and smiled not unkindly.

She let go of the ball.

The ball raced towards the end of the classroom, stopped abruptly, and fell into Draco Malfoy's lap.

Draco stared mutely at the ball, blankly. Whispers spread across the classroom, most of them audible.

"_Him?_"

"He can _sing?_"

"Aw man! I wanted the part!"

Draco lifted his head to look at the professor. He started to shake his head. "Professor," he started. A hushed silence fell over the class – Draco Malfoy _never_ spoke in class. "There must be a mistake," he said quietly.

Professor Pinkle regarded him for a moment. "I can assure you, Mr Malfoy, that this ball is _impossible_ at making mistakes."

Draco didn't respond. His gaze dropped to look at the ball. He still hadn't touched it.

"You don't have to accept, Mr Malfoy," Professor Pinkle said softly.

Every member of the class was looking at Draco.

Draco stared at the ball.

And stared.

And stared.

--------------------------------------------------------to be continued--------------------------------------------------------

_**A/**_**N: Really hope you liked that **** I enjoyed writing it, so please tell me what you think? **


	11. Fairytale

-----------------------------------------------------------FAIRYTALE------------------------------------------------------------

"Mr Malfoy, we need you to make up your mind _soon_ please," Professor Pinkle's sparkly voice called out to him.

Draco didn't look up. He closed his eyes, thinking. What would happen if he accepted the role? His life would get back to normal, that's what. People would get to know that he wasn't living in a closet, that he really knew how to sing and act. He didn't know who the hell Prince Charming even was – he hadn't read the book yet – but that didn't matter.

Where was the harm in accepting the role? What was the worst that could happen? He thought and thought, feeling the full weight of the thoughts swirling around in his head.

Nothing, that's what.

Without opening his eyes, his fingers crawled across his lap, until the tip of his index finger grazed the surface of the ball. He opened his eyes a sliver to watch the fireworks. Excited whispers rushed through the classroom, and Draco dipped his head to avoid the stares. He rested his forehead on his arm, and stared at the ball that was sitting in the palm of his hand.

At the front of the classroom, Hermione fidgeted nervously with her robes. Malfoy had been cast the role of Prince Charming...she had been cast the role of Snow White. You didn't have to be a Muggle to do the math on that one. Almost everyone knew what happened between Prince Charming and Snow White at the end of the story. She wondered if Malfoy knew. She turned around in her seat. Where did he sit? Her eyes ran across the dozens of faces before her, some people trying to catch her eye, some chatting animatedly with each other. They were all eager to hear the names of the rest of the cast.

Ah, there he was. Hermione sat up straighter in her seat, but all she could see was Malfoy's head resting on the counter, his face hidden. Strange reaction.

Professor Pinkle stared in amusement at the girl in front of her. "Miss Granger, might I ask what you are doing?"

Hermione jumped in her seat, and spun around to face the front. She brushed a piece of hair off her face, and replied, "Um, a bit of yoga, Professor."

Professor Pinkle tilted her head in confusion. "Yoga? What is this _yoga_?" Before Hermione could reply, the professor shook her head. "Never mind. _Ahem!_" For the first time in the history of the Muggle Studies classroom this year, the class was silenced. Professor Pinkle smiled brightly. "Right, thank you! I'll be calling out the rest of the names on the list now." She plonked her glasses back on her nose, pointed her wand at the giant ball, and called out, "The evil step-mother!"

"It's _certain_ to be someone from Slytherin!" someone – Lavender, by the sound of it – whispered loudly.

A ball shot out and raced towards the professor's hands. The professor looked at the name, and laughed. "Oh, I heard some entertaining stories about _this_ young lady!" She let the ball go, and each member in the class was braced for the ball to come flying at them. Instead, it flew out the door, and down the corridor.

"I told you it was open to all learners in the school," Professor Pinkle sighed out merrily.

"Who got the part?" Dean asked.

The professor said, "A certain Romilda Vane."

Dean let out a low appreciative whistle under his breath, along with several other boys in the class. Hermione glared at Dean.

"What? She's hot," he said defensively, squaring his shoulders.

Hermione shook her head disapprovingly. How many love potions did Romilda make? She returned her gaze to Professor Pinkle, who had her wand pointed at the ball.

"Dopey!" And the same procedure of the ball shooting out, landing in Professor Pinkle's outstretched hand, her exclaiming in wonder, and the ball finding its owner was followed. The boy who was to play turned out to be in their very own class.

Hermione grinned. "Congratulations, Dean!" Just after the fireworks subsided, she reached over to hug him.

"Wicked! I'm Dopey!" Dean yelled. Hermione laughed.

The names of the other dwarfs – Doc, Grumpy, Sneezy, Sleepy, Happy and Bashful – were also called out. All balls except the 'Happy' ball had zoomed out of the classroom. The part of Happy went to Lavender.

Lavender gaped in shock at the ball sitting on her desk. The people around her erupted into fits of giggles and only stopped laughing when Lavender shot them death stares. She raised her hand. "Um, Professor Pinkle?"

Professor Pinkle paused in the act of calling out another name, and turned to look at Lavender. She smiled. "Yes, my dear?"

Lavender dropped her eyes to look fearfully at the ball on her desk, and then she looked back at the professor. "Professor Pinkle, there has definitely been a mistake. I am certain of it." Her voice quivered. A few brave souls were still giggling over the situation.

"And why do you think that?" The professor's teeth glimmered.

Lavender looked outraged. "Because all the dwarfs in the book are _boys_!"

Professor Pinkle let out a tinkling laugh. "Now that's not true, Miss Brown."

Lavender slammed her fist down on the table. "It _is!_"

"It's not," the professor insisted. "They're really dwarf-sized _men_."

Lavender let out a whimper. "With all due respect Professor, this is _not_ funny at all! I do not accept the role!"

The professor shook her head, smiling. "My dear, you already did. Look."

Lavender looked down at the ball, and was astonished to find that she had unknowingly gripped the ball during her fit of rage. She let the ball go as if it were on fire, but the fireworks had already started. "Oh no..." Lavender whimpered.

"Oh yes!" the professor exclaimed. "As the Muggles say, 'welcome aboard'!"

Lavender buried her face in her hands. "I don't even know how to act, let alone sing!"

Parvati tried to comfort her. She patted her best friend's back, rubbing soothing patterns. "Well, you clearly must be able to, and like a dwarf-sized man, too!" This didn't seem to help, and resulted in more people laughing.

Hermione shook her head slightly, amused. She turned around in her seat to face the front again, and raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Professor, won't you tell us who received the other roles?"

Professor Pinkle sighed. "Well, Miss Granger dear," she said in a tone suitable for addressing a five-year-old. "If I do that, it will ruin the fun! I shall put a list up later today."

Hermione sat back in her seat, irritated. So, basically, they were all supposed to watch the professor dramatically call out names of characters, and watch the balls zoom out of the classroom to Merlin knows where? Or if they were lucky the chosen actors would be in their class? How mind-numbing would that be?

The lesson passed by, the seconds dragging into minutes, and when the sixtieth minute had come, the bell sounded.

"Thank Merlin!" Hermione muttered.

"I'll be putting up the list later today! Don't you forget!" called out the professor's irritating voice.

Hermione saw Malfoy packing away his things silently, and went up to him. "Congratulations!"

Malfoy looked up at her from his chair. He nodded. "Thank you. And to you, too," he added.

Hermione smiled, and then she realized that he was not smiling. "You never smile, you know that?" He looked at her sharply, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I mean, aren't you excited?"

By now, the class had left for lunch. Malfoy zipped his bag shut. "It's a musical, Granger. Do you want me to start skipping now?"

Hermione pondered the idea. "That would be awfully hilarious," she said seriously.

Malfoy only nodded, and stood up. Merlin, he was tall. Hermione took a few steps backward so that she didn't have to look up at him. "Well, considering the parts we got, we're going to be working together more so than ever, so..."

Malfoy nodded _again_, and made to walk passed her. How rude. Hermione let it slide, realizing that there was only so much she could do to get through to him. She moved aside to let him pass.

She watched as he left the classroom. Professor Pinkle had also left. It was just Hermione. It was just Hermione and her thoughts, and right now Hermione was wondering, _How on earth is _he_ Prince Charming?_

* * *

Hermione dropped onto the bench, taking her place between Ron and Harry. Ron had a stormy look brewing on his face. Hermione glanced at his empty plate, and then back at his face. Ron hadn't acknowledged her yet. She looked at Harry who was chatting with Ginny.

"Do you know what happened to him? He isn't even eating," she told them both, interrupting their animated conversation. She jerked her head in Ron's direction.

Ginny laughed, her laugh almost sounding like a cackle. "Did he not tell you yet?" She picked up a piece of her roll and flung it at her brother. "Oy," she said in a louder voice, "tell Hermione your _good_ news."

"What good news?" Hermione asked. She elbowed Ron. "Ronald, please tell me," she said.

Ron slowly rotated his head. He looked at her, his expression stony. "I received a ... I received a certain _ball_ today."

Hermione's eyes widened and she clapped her hand over her mouth to prevent her laughter from bubbling out. She lowered her hand, trying her hardest to keep from laughing. "Oh, Ronald! Which part did you get?" She placed a hand on Ron's shoulder, and he shrugged it off.

"You're laughing at me!" he complained.

"I'm not! Honestly, I'm not!" Hermione insisted.

"Go on all of you. Have your laughs at Ron Weasley," he said irritably.

"I don't even know which part you got!" Hermione said.

Ron mumbled something. Hermione leaned in closer. "Sorry, I didn't hear that."

"I said 'Grumpy'!" he yelled.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Hmm, I'm not too sure how they arrived at that decision. I mean, _grumpy_? _You_?" she said teasingly. Harry and Ginny laughed.

Ron got up from the table and stalked out of the Great Hall. Hermione smiled. "He's not taking it so well, huh?" she asked Harry.

"Not at all," Ginny replied happily. "Best part is that he didn't know he had a choice. So when the ball landed on the grass before him – because, you know, we all had a free period before lunch – he just picked it up." Ginny grinned.

Hermione shook her head. "Poor Ronald." She dug into her food, then. Midway through her fifth or sixth bite of her toasted cheese sandwich, Harry asked, "So who got the part of the evil step-mother?"

Hermione swallowed, and said, "Romilda Vane."

"Romilda _Vane?_" Ginny snapped. "That idiot from Ravenclaw?"

Hermione nodded. "The very same, Ginny. Why did you ask, Harry?"

Harry cleared his throat. "Because I'm playing the King," he said awkwardly.

Hermione squealed. "But that's brilliant, Harry!"

Harry scratched his nose self-consciously. "Yes, well, I'm not too sure which version your Professor Pinkle's thinking of using. There's the one where the King dies somewhere in the beginning, and then there's the one where he doesn't die at all. Personally, I don't want too much of stage time."

Ginny stabbed her drumstick with her knife. "I hope the King dies in the beginning," she muttered.

Hermione's excitement faded and she looked at Ginny sadly. The poor girl didn't want Harry to spend too much of his time with Romilda Vane. Even worse, Harry didn't even notice that Ginny cared.

"By the way, Ginny also has a part in the musical," Harry said.

"Wow, Ginny! The four of us are acting in the musical! Which character are you playing?" Hermione asked, while mentally running through a list of the characters.

"The _hunter_," Ginny muttered darkly. "The person who does the _killing_."

Harry looked at her surprised, and Hermione shifted uncomfortably on the bench. "Aha," was all she said.

This was sure to be one interesting play.

* * *

That evening found Hermione sitting cross-legged on the floor, with her back leaning against the couch, diligently studying. She was summarizing her Potions textbook chapters. She heard the portrait door swing open, but didn't look up. She knew it could only be Malfoy. Instead of heading straight for his room like he usually did, he walked briskly towards the couch, and dropped his satchel onto it.

"Granger," he stated, standing next to her.

"Just a second," she said, finishing off the last sentence. Full stop. "There, I'm done. Now what do you want?" As she asked her question, she raised her head to look at him. She sighed, shaking her head. "Malfoy, you're hurting my neck. Please sit down," she said, massaging her neck with two fingers.

Malfoy sighed, too. He sat down on the floor as well, opposite her, keeping his distance. "Why are you sitting on the floor anyway?"

Hermione shrugged. "No idea. What do you want, Malfoy? I have work, so please make it brief."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. He reached forward to lift one of her summaries up. He glanced through it briefly. "Granger, you're summarizing a section that we haven't even covered yet in class. And exams are about four months away."

"And you're already biting into that time," she snapped, grabbing her notes back. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Malfoy bit his lip, and looked down. He looked back at her. "I need clarification about something."

"What?"

"Something I don't quite understand –"

"Well, clearly, Malfoy, or else you wouldn't be needing clarification. Please. Just get to the _point_," she said, placing her quill on the floor. She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting.

Malfoy leaned forward slightly, and folded his hands into each other. "It's this...fairytale thing. I don't quite understand it."

"The musical or the actual book?"

"Both. Aren't they one in the same?"

Hermione ran a hand through her hair. "No. In the book, the only singing is done by the dwarfs. In the musical, _everyone_ sings."

Malfoy was shaking his head. "No, I meant the storyline."

Hermione pulled up her knees, and she rested her head against them. "Malfoy, I'm begging you. Be specific. I'm tired, and I cannot afford for you to beat about the bush."

When Malfoy spoke, it came out rushed, "I think that the story is too rushed, too unbelievable. A mirror that speaks of one's beauty? Ridiculous. And the love between Snow White and the Prince is not love at all. I mean, it is impossible to expect a dead person to reawaken just by _kissing_ that person. Impossible." Scorn had coloured the last few words of his little speech.

Hermione dropped her knees, sighing. Her legs were now adjacent to his, but not touching. They avoided any form of human contact.

She looked at him, tying to convey her message properly. "Malfoy, it's a _fairytale_. It's supposed to be rushed. Parents tell their children these stories before they go to bed. It needs to be short, and to the point. And I cannot believe you just said it's unbelievable! You're a bloody _wizard_!" Malfoy looked ready to interject, but Hermione held up a hand. "I'm not finished. There _is_ love between the Prince and Snow White. And it wasn't his kiss that brought her back to life. It was his love. They are two completely different things. He kissed her because it was the best way he could express his love for her. He wanted to feed love and, therefore, life into her. Do you understand what I am saying?"

Malfoy's eyes had taken on a strange look. To Hermione, they looked less opaque than before. Was it a trick of the light, or did his eyes seem to have some depth to them? "I understand, I think," he said quietly.

"Good, because I need to go to bed now. I don't think I can concentrate on this work." She yawned and got up. But just before she turned, the portrait door swung open.

Malfoy jumped up from the floor, his wand before him. He stood slightly in front of Hermione. Hermione had to step around him to see who had trespassed onto their territory. The cloaked figure stepped into the Common Room. "Please lower your wand, Mr Malfoy," said the voice, briskly.

Malfoy lowered his wand, and murmured, "My apologies, Professor McGonagall."

"Good evening, Professor," Hermione said respectfully. "You could have owled us, and we would have come to your office."

Professor McGonagall crossed the room in a few short steps. "I'm afraid that the matter at hand is very delicate, Miss Granger. It was...important that I personally came to see you." The professor glanced at the big window. Hermione followed her gaze, but didn't see anything special except a picture of the full moon sitting on a dark blue blanket.

"Professor, is something wrong?" Hermione enquired. What had she done wrong?

The professor waved her wand so that the curtains snapped shut. She turned to face Hermione, and she smiled kindly. "I'm afraid so, Miss Granger." She turned to Malfoy. "Mr Malfoy, if you could please excuse us."

Hermione stared confusedly between Professor McGonagall and Malfoy. Why couldn't Malfoy be present? "Professor, I'm sure that whatever you have to say can be said in front of Malfoy. He is Head Boy, after all."

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. "This is not about Head duties, Miss Granger. Please sit down." Professor McGonagall nodded at Draco to leave the room. Draco shared a look with the Headmistress. In the professor's eyes he noticed much grief. Draco glanced quickly at the girl – Granger – and suddenly felt pity for her course through his veins. What news was she going to get told?

He nodded at the Headmistress, and retreated to his room. He shut the door, yet it wasn't necessary. He could still hear the voices on the other side perfectly well. He knew he shouldn't, but he sat on his floor, with his ear resting against his door.

Hermione watched as the Headmistress took a seat next to her on the couch. "Miss Granger, I have some terrible news for you."

Hermione felt her blood run cold. She gripped the edge of the couch tightly. "Is it Harry? Or Ron? Are they okay?"

Professor McGonagall looked at her sadly. "Mr Potter and Mr Weasley are both perfectly alright, Miss Granger."

"Then who is it? What is it?"

The professor took one of Hermione's hands into her own. "Miss Granger, we just received word that your mother has died."

Hermione froze. She blinked. "I beg your pardon. What?" she asked in a coarse whisper. Her hands started to feel clammy. She let go of the professor's hand suddenly and stood up, facing her. "What did you say?"

"I'm so sorry, Miss Granger. It was an unexpected, sudden death," the professor said softly.

Hermione felt something wet fall from her eye. Tears. She wiped them away. "Are you sure? Who told you?"

Professor McGonagall stood up. "Your father contacted the school now, Miss Granger."

Hermione crumpled to the floor, and lay there sobbing quietly, and slowly hysteria began to invade her system. Her sobbing became more high-pitched, and her body began to shake violently. Professor McGonagall knelt down beside Hermione, gathering her in her arms. Hermione continued to shake, as her cries rocked her body harder. She was making loud, sharp, piercing noises that cut through the air. Professor McGonagall found it difficult to support the weight of the young girl.

"Mr Malfoy," she called out. She knew he would hear her. The door opened immediately, and the young Malfoy boy hurried forward. Miss Granger had not the faintest idea of what was happening around her.

Draco sank to his knees next to the Headmistress. He looked at Granger on the floor. She had rolled out of Professor McGonagall's grip, and was now thrashing about on the floor. "Mr Malfoy, I need your help, please," the professor begged him. She motioned towards Granger. Draco crawled forward, and reached out to lift her up. He didn't even notice the fact that he was carrying Granger, physically touching her. His heart ached for her. He didn't know what it felt like to lose a parent to God. He didn't ever want to know what it felt like.

Once he had her safely in his arms, he stood up. She wasn't that heavy, really. "Mr Malfoy, if she wants to pack a few bags to go home, she's more than welcome to do so. Please help her." The sincerity in the Headmistress's voice touched Draco, and he nodded. "Very well. I'll take your leave now." She passed a hand over Granger's hair, and then left.

Granger's sobs were slowing down, and as if she were a small child in his arms, he rocked her gently, attempting to soothe her. He could feel the wetness of her tears soak straight through his shirt, but he didn't mind. He walked over to one of the couches, and sat down on it, with Granger on his lap. She probably wasn't even aware of what was happening to her, around her. She was only aware of what was happening within her.

He lifted a hand to stroke her hair, but then dropped it. That would be too awkward, and what he was doing now was hard enough. She had her hand gripped tightly onto the fabric of his shirt, so that even if he tried to put her next to him, she wouldn't let go.

Her sobs began to die down. Her body was now only mildly trembling. Draco clenched his teeth and forced himself to lift his hand. Once he had full control of his hand, he brought it to rest on top of her head. Closing his eyes tightly, he tried to stroke her hair, just like how his mother used to do for him whenever he got hurt. His movement was too rigid, his fingers couldn't loosen. What he did didn't feel natural. It didn't feel right to him, but he forced himself to do it. He knew that when a person is undergoing extreme emotional pain, they needed physical touch. They needed to know that there was somebody who could catch them when they were already falling.

And then it started to feel almost normal. Down. Up. Down. Up. Sometimes he'd let go of his hand to let it trail freely through her hair. It must have helped, because her sobs soon stopped.

Hiccups.

He settled back into the couch, resting his head on the back of it. He closed his eyes, and tried not to think.

It was very hard.

"Malfoy?" came her cracked question. She sounded so lost. Draco knew that it was wrong, but he thought that at last he had met with his inner self. He saw his inner self on her outer self. He felt comforted. It was a morbid feeling, but nonetheless, he felt comforted.

"Yes?"

"_Why_?"

He didn't have to ask her what she meant. He knew perfectly well what she meant. "Sometimes, life likes to throw a quaffle our way, and when we have no beaters to protect us, we recieve some serious injuries." He was using a Quidditch analogy, but he really hoped she understood.

"Life isn't a—" hiccup "—game, though. Why me, Malfoy?" More tears.

He didn't answer, but chose to hold her tighter, thinking that if he held her tighter, he would squeeze all her excess tears out. She didn't need to cry anymore. It was hurtful to cry. He knew.

He looked down at her, curled in his lap. Was this how the King felt when his wife had died? Draco wondered, thinking about the so-called fairytale. Snow White had been left all alone in the care of her father. Her mother had just died ... In the silence, something clicked in his mind, and he almost threw Hermione off him. If the connection he had just made was actually correct, then things had only just started to get worse.

But fairytales are impossible.

-------------------------------------------------------to be continued---------------------------------------------------------

_**A/**_**N: Yes, I know, extremely sad, but I had to do it! If you haven't already caught on, you'll catch on pretty soon. Please don't hate me! And thanks to all those amazing people for reviewing. Love you all xx.**


	12. Transformations

------------------------------------------------------TRANSFORMATIONS----------------------------------------------------

Draco hadn't realized that he'd fallen asleep on the couch. This was getting annoying – falling asleep on the couch, that is. How many times had he done that this year? His legs were aching, and he felt sore. His neck felt stiff, and his back hurt. In the darkness of his mind, he tried to figure out if he'd done anything labour intensive, but nothing popped into mind. He opened his eyes, and automatically looked down at his body, trying to figure out the problem. He was momentarily startled when he found half of the Granger-girl's body curled up on him.

His mouth curled down in disgust. His instant reaction was to recoil, and shove her off him. Her head was resting upon his lap. She had bunched up a clump of his jeans in her hand, and her other arm was draped across his leg.

Draco felt incredibly awkward. How had they ended up in this position? He racked his brain, but couldn't come up with anything. He shook out one of his hands and, holding his breath, he used his thumb and index finger to lift her arm off him. He tried dropping it over the couch, but this only caused the girl to move the opposite way. She rolled over in her sleep, and was now facing him.

Only then did Draco notice her swollen eyes, and her tear-tracked face. The unwelcome events of last night leaked into his mind, and Draco tried to force them out but they were stronger than him. _You poor girl_, Draco thought, looking down at Granger. She looked so broken, even in the vulnerable state of sleep.

He held his breath again, and placed his two arms under her, supporting her. With surprisingly no difficulty he lifted her, being absolutely careful not to wake her. He stood up, swaying slightly. He closed his eyes briefly, waiting for the giddiness to pass. It did, and he opened his eyes again. He turned around slowly, and bent down, gently placing the girl back onto the couch. He let out a _whoosh_ of a breath.

For Granger's sake, he hoped that she'd stay in her harmless state of sleep. Once she woke up, the world would continue to claw at her, tearing away her strength.

He stretched, rolling his head this way and that, trying to un-kink it. He rubbed the signs of sleep from his eyes, and walked towards the mini-kitchen. He poured himself a cup of juice, and sipped it thoughtfully. He had a theory about Granger. He hoped it wasn't correct – for everyone's sake.

Because he had finally read _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_, and he knew how it ended.

He finished off the last drop off juice, and licked his lips. _That was tasty_, he thought. Perhaps it was new juice.

"Malfoy?"

Draco turned around. Granger was sitting upright on the couch, looking deflated. She looked weirdly different though. But Draco couldn't put his finger on what made her look different. He disregarded the thoughts.

"How are you feeling?" he asked sincerely.

"Awful," Granger mumbled. A tear dropped from her eye.

Draco fidgeted with his empty glass. He decided to not say anything. He Summoned another glass, and poured another glass of juice. He carried it across the room. He stood before her, offering the glass. She shook her head mutely. He shrugged, and placed the glass of juice on the coffee table before her. He sat on one of the other couches, looking at her.

Granger was staring at a point behind Draco. Draco didn't turn around to see what she was looking at; he knew that she was looking at nothing. Suddenly, he knew what was different about her.

"Your hair," he said. "Did you do something to it?"

Granger looked at him then, and then reached up to touch her hair. "No," she said softly. "Why?"

Draco narrowed his eyes, thinking. "I don't know," he said hesitantly. "There's just something different about it..." he trailed off, analyzing her.

Granger didn't seem to mind him looking at her. She resorted to staring at a point behind him.

Suddenly, Draco stood up. "Granger, your hair is _black_ and... not ..._bushy_," he said in shock.

"I beg your pardon, Malfoy?" she said in a dejected voice.

Draco walked closed to her. "Granger, you used to have brown hair, correct?"

Granger looked at him through her red-rimmed eyes. "I still do, Malfoy."

Draco shook his head. "Granger...you hair is _black_."

The girl sighed. "Malfoy, please I don't have the energy to argue with you." Another tear.

Draco shook his head again. He came to a stop a few feet before her. "Granger, there's no doubt about it. Your hair – it's as black as ebony. "

Granger merely sighed.

Draco looked around him. He spotted the glass full of juice that he had poured for her. He took out his wand and pointed it at the glass. He flicked it. The glass turned into a mirror, and fell forward to the floor. Draco bent down to pick it up, and handed it to the girl. "Take a look," he said quietly.

Granger held up the mirror to look at her reflection, and gasped. Her hand went up to touch her hair. "It's black," she said softly.

"That's what I've been saying," Draco told her impatiently, briefly forgetting that Granger had just been through a terrible ordeal.

"And it's not wild," she remarked peacefully. "It's wavy." She tilted her head to the side. She looked up at him. "It's black though," she said.

"I know that," he said. "Did you put a spell on it?"

Granger shook her head slowly. "The last time I did that to my hair was for Bill and Fleur's wedding. I haven't done it since."

Draco had no idea whose names she had just mentioned. Though the second one sounded familiar. "Strange," he commented.

Granger was about to put the mirror down, when she noticed something. She let out a small whimper.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked, trying to etch concern into his voice. He was finding it difficult to express sincere emotion.

"My lips," murmured Granger.

Draco blinked, his gaze automatically dropping to her lips. He didn't find anything strange about them. Very bright in colour, he supposed. He returned his gaze to her eyes. "I'm sorry, your what?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"My lips," Granger repeated. "They're..._red_."

Draco chose not to react. He forgot how to. What did one do in a situation like this? "And what's wrong with that?" he asked.

She looked up at him. "I _never_ had red lips, Malfoy," she said slowly.

Draco looked away. Now that she was looking at him, the only thing he could see was her lips. "Perhaps you applied...make-up or something, and forgot to remove it," he suggested to the dormant fireplace.

"I don't wear make-up, though," she said.

Something triggered in Draco's memory. He walked away slowly. "We should start getting ready. For school. Unless you want to go home?" he added as an afterthought.

Granger nodded. "I want to see my father," she said quietly, but in a determined voice.

"Will you be staying there long?"

"Just for two days. The...f-funeral should be tomorrow."

Draco nodded uncomfortably. Remembering what the Headmistress told him the night before, he added, "Would you like me to...help you with your packing?" He hoped she would say no.

Granger shook her head – much to Draco's gratitude. He was not ready for doing _this_ much for a single person outside his family. "Very well," he said shortly. He stepped forward to offer an embrace, thinking she would want the comfort. She looked up at him, briefly startled, and he quickly turned his gesture into a handshake. He opened his mouth to say something comforting, but when nothing came to mind, he closed it. She looked at him, her eyebrows turned down, confused. Her red lips quivered, and to Draco's intense discomfort, tears started oozing out of her eyes.

Granger hobbled forward a few steps and threw her arms around him. Draco stiffened, but he didn't think that Granger noticed. She cried into his shirt. Draco's arms were at his sides, and he wanted them to stay there. He wished the girl would let go of him. He understood she was in gut-wrenching emotional pain, but he couldn't be her pillar of strength. He couldn't.

But then again, who else did she really have? She had Potter, of course, and she had that red Weasel. But they were in a tower far away from here. Who did she have right now?

He sighed. Only him. His arms lifted of their own accord, and he wrapped her in an awkward embrace. She cried harder, and her hot breaths tickled Draco's neck, but he didn't pull away. He forced himself to not pull away until she did. He tried his hardest not to breathe in the scent of her hair. It was difficult though – he could only hold his breath for so long. It smelt fruity. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, trying to mentally block the scent from entering his system. It was to no use.

After a few moments of (heavenly) torture, Draco said tightly, "Granger, we're going to be late..."

She released him then, and Draco wanted to swallow the cool air that breezed in between them. "I'm terribly sorry about that," she said through a cracked voice.

Draco straightened his crumpled shirt. "It's quite alright, Granger. Completely understandable." He conjured a tissue and handed it to her. She gently wiped her tears away, with a soft smile. "She taught me how to sing, you know," she said.

Draco paused mid-step. He was just about to turn around to go to his room. There was something he had to find out. "You have a voice on you," Draco said, attempting to compliment Granger.

Granger smiled weakly. "My mother..." she started. She straightened, but after a few seconds her body returned to its slumped position. "I should be getting ready. If you could please tell Professor McGonagall—"

"She already knows," Draco said.

Granger nodded, her black, shiny hair swaying.

"Goodbye, Granger," he said quietly.

"Thank you, Malfoy. For everything," Granger said, a small smile gracing her red lips.

Draco nodded, and quickly hurried to his room. He closed the door behind him, and Summoned the fairytale book. He turned to the first page. He read through the first few lines, and then closed his eyes, sending a silent prayer Heavenwards.

For, in the very first two paragraphs, it read,

_Once upon a time there was a queen who wished for a daughter, with lips as red as blood, skin as white as snow and hair as black as ebony. Soon she had a little daughter and saw that her wish had been answered,_

_The daughter's skin was as white as snow, her lips as red as blood and her hair as black as ebony. The queen named her Snow White and lover her very much_.

He closed the book. Granger was already as pale as anything. Not as pale as snow, but now that he thought of it, the death of her mother seemed to leave her looking very pale. Her lips ... blood red. Her hair ... ebony black. What were the other signs? When would they arrive?

*

He heard a soft knock on his door. He crossed his room, buttoning the last few buttons on his school shirt. He opened the door, and saw Granger there. She had a small blue rucksack thrown over her back, and she was holding a white piece of parchment in her hand. She held it out to him. "This is for you," she said quietly, offering it to him. "Our Head duties. Just so you know what I have to do – perhaps you could allocate them to one of the prefects."

Draco nodded, taking the parchment from her small hand. He looked at her before looking at the parchment. The girl looked so fragile; he feared that one more tear would break her. But she tried to hold her head up high, and somewhere deep inside Draco he felt a sense of respect for her. The girl hadn't smiled in the past twelve hours or so, and for her, that was extraordinarily strange. She needed to smile. It was important. Smiles barred the tears.

Draco felt his mind freeze. Did he just wish for the girl to _smile_? Since when did he care so much for her wellbeing? _It must have been that juice,_ he thought wistfully.

"Also," Granger said in a small voice, "can you please give Professor Pinkle this?" She held out another sheet of parchment, and Draco took it. Draco wasn't really taught the definition of privacy, so he popped the letter open and read the subject line.

His eyes widened. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked quietly, shaking the letter to illustrate his point.

Granger's eyes narrowed slightly. "It is very rude to open someone else's mail, Malfoy. In fact, in Muggle society, it's considered a crime," she said in what she probably thought was a threatening voice.

It wasn't even close. It bordered on a swing trying to swing without chains attached to it.

Draco shook his head. He didn't _care_ about Muggle society. "Granger, you cannot hand in a _resignation_ for the school musical. It's simply not done," he said, staring into her eyes intently, trying to convey the importance of his message.

Granger returned his stare. "And why not?" she asked, sniffing.

"Because you already _accepted!_ There's no going back. There is nobody else who can replace you. You fit the role perfectly which is why the ball chose you. If they choose someone else, it would probably be a disaster."

Granger tilted her head to one side. "You're being a bit dramatic, Malfoy. Could you just give that to her?"

Draco mentally counted to ten, and then released his frustration through one breath. He nodded stiffly.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I'm not too sure why you care so much anyway."

"I don't," Draco found himself saying quickly. "It just doesn't feel quite right...what you're doing."

The girl switched the weight of the bag from her left shoulder to her right shoulder. "Malfoy, I have been through so much in the past day. I don't think that I'll be able to cope with the added stress of a musical."

Draco shook his head again. "Granger, that's the best part about the musical. We don't even have to _learn_ for it. All the words and actions come naturally."

He could sense her wavering. "I don't know, Malfoy..." she said quietly, glancing at her shoes.

"Try not to be too hasty, alright?" he said.

Granger looked up from her feet, then. Draco wasn't too sure why she had a confused look in her eyes. Was it something he had said? Was it the way in which he said something?

"Malfoy, why are you being so nice?" she asked bluntly, yet there was genuine confusion on her face.

"I beg your pardon?" Draco asked, taking a step backwards.

"I asked why are you being so nice?"

Draco's mouth felt dry. He couldn't answer her question. He glanced at his watch. "Look, Granger, I'm running a bit late for school. But you have a safe trip, and ..." he almost said 'take care', but stopped himself just in time. "Yes, well, goodbye." He nodded once at her, and walked passed her, but not before noticing how sadness clouded her eyes further. He refused to feel guilty. He _refused._ The girl knew he wasn't a softy. Understandable, her mother had just passed away, but that didn't mean that he had to change his whole self to fit her needs. He would do what was required of him, and he had played his part well last night. He had taken care of her. But now, she was returning home, where she had people who genuinely loved her to take care of her and support her.

That was not his job. He was her colleague.

Just before he reached the portrait door though, he wasn't able to hear a crisp voice on the other side announce the password. The door swung open, banging into him. The force of the door swinging backwards really should have knocked him to the floor. Instead, he just stumbled backwards, and caught himself from falling. He straightened, adjusting his cloak. Thank Merlin he hadn't fallen. There would have been awful creases on his clothing.

He looked up at the proud woman standing before him. "Professor McGonagall," he said unsmilingly, nodding at her.

"Good morning, Mr Malfoy," she said crisply, breezing passed him. "I came to speak to the both of you."

Draco glanced at his watch subtly. "Professor, with all due respect, classes start in five minutes and I really should be go—"

"Have a seat, Mr Malfoy," the professor said, motioning towards the couches. Draco reluctantly followed her instruction. Then in a kinder tone, "You, too, Miss Granger."

Hermione hobbled forward, and took a seat on one of the couches. She looked up fearfully at the professor, and Draco briefly wondered why. "Professor, there surely cannot be more terrible news?" the girl asked.

Ah, that explains the fear. Draco looked at the professor, waiting for her reply. "No, of course not, Miss Granger. What I have to say is with regards to a few formalities."

Draco leaned forward. "On whose part, Professor?"

Professor McGonagall looked at him. "Yours, Mr Malfoy."

Draco hesitated, and then nodded. What was required of him?

As if reading his mind, the professor said, "You will be accompanying Miss Granger to her home, and will be returning with her when she chooses to come back."

Draco refrained from standing up, and yelling profanities. He ignored Granger's sharp intake of breath, and he breathed in deeply. He said in a smooth tone, "Professor, I do not think that it is wise having _both_ Heads leave the school premises. Surely you would need at least one of us to be here? Why is it necessary for _me _to go? Is it not possible for either Harry Potter or Ron Weasley to accompany her? I'm sure they would be more obliging to do so."

The professor raised her eyebrows. "Mr Malfoy, are you calling me unwise?"

Draco was about to assure her of quite the opposite when she continued, "I have thought of each thing you have mentioned and more. The first thing you mentioned – the Heads matter, was it? – We have eight prefects in this school, Mr Malfoy, and I'm quite sure that the school will be able to manage perfectly well without the two of you. You would just have to divide your duties amongst the prefects." In his pocket, Draco's fist curled tightly around the parchment that Granger had given him. There was no need for it now.

"Then I think you mentioned the matter of one of Miss Granger's friends to accompany her," the professor continued in her dry tone. "There have been some ... complications regarding Mr Weasley's physical state –"

She was cut off as a small whimper escaped Granger's lips. Professor McGonagall turned her gaze towards the girl. "Don't worry, Miss Granger. Mr Weasley is perfectly healthy." She turned her gaze back towards Draco, "Mr Potter has to leave the school to write a very important test at the Ministry of Magic. This test will determine his acceptance into Auror Training. Ginny Weasley cannot go either as she is a prefect, and she will be handling a few of Miss Granger's duties as it is. This is why _you_ have to go with Miss Granger. I need someone who is both responsible and is able to carry our school's name well. Anymore questions?"

Draco shook his head numbly. His day was not looking good.

Granger held up a hand. Draco would have laughed, but he couldn't find any humour int he current situation.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Is it possible for me to withdraw from the musical, Professor?" Hope coloured her voice.

Professor McGonagall shook her head. "I'm afraid that is impossible, Miss Granger. You did accept the ball. The ball chose _you_. No one else would fit the part except you."

Draco felt like saying 'I told you so' but bit his tongue. Granger frowned and looked down at her lap.

"Very well, then," the professor said, getting up.

"Professor, can I please see Harry and Ron before I leave?" Granger asked sadly. Draco noticed that she had hardly reacted throughout the Headmistress's speech.

"I think I saw them coming up, Miss Granger," the austere woman replied. And sure enough, there was a banging on the portrait door.

"HERMIONE!"

Draco rolled his eyes, and sat back in the couch.

"Merlin's beard," the professor commented.

He watched as Granger got up from her seat, and walked towards the door. She opened it, and two boys toppled in. Well, it _looked _like two boys. There was one ordinarily sized bespectacled boy. But the other boy ... he looked more like an infant with a – was that a _beard_?

He heard Granger's sharp intake of breath. She bent forwards, "_Ronald?"_

Draco squinted. Sure enough, the infant-looking boy was actually Weasel. He had a full red beard, and was dwarf-sized. He had a very ... _sour_ expression upon his face. The wheels were spinning in Draco's head.

While Potter and Weasel sympathized with Granger, and while Granger sobbed into Harry's chest, and Weasel sort of patted her knee reassuringly, Draco stood up and walked over to the professor. The professor was looking over at the trio by the portrait with a half-amused, half-saddened expression on her face.

"Professor, may I please have a word?" he asked her quietly.

"Of course, Mr Malfoy," the professor replied. He took a seat next to her on the couch.

He turned to look at her seriously, but before he could start, the professor said, "Mr Malfoy, I hope this isn't about the arrangements with Granger."

Draco shook his head, albeit reluctantly. "No, Professor, but there's something that's been troubling me—"

He was cut off as Weasel's bellow of, "MALFOY'S _COMING_ WITH YOU?!" was heard. He heard Granger hastily explain to the dwarf-sized Weasley.

"Professor, there have been strange things that have been happening," Draco started by saying.

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Please elaborate, Mr Malfoy," she said, regarding him.

And then it all came out in a rush. "Ever since we all accepted those roles for the school musical of _Snow White_, strange things have been happening." The professor's eyebrows furrowed. Draco carried on in a hurried whisper, "I think that whatever happens to the characters in the book is actually happening to the people who play those characters in reality."

There. His theory was out. He sincerely hoped the professor didn't laugh at him.

"Do you have any...proof of this, Mr Malfoy?" the professor said hesitantly.

Draco nodded. He began to draw up a list of similarities, "It started when Granger's mother died. Snow White's mother _also _died. And then—"

"But Mr Malfoy, Snow White's mother died just after giving birth," the professor interjected.

"There's more," Draco said impatiently. He shot a look over his shoulder at the trio. The three were sitting on the floor – probably so that they could all be at the same height. He returned his gaze to the professor. "Her appearance has changed, too. Her hair – it was never black. Her lips weren't as red, either." The professor looked slightly shocked at his observation. "_She_ commented on the last part. I only noticed the hair part," he said, defending his honour.

"I don't know, Mr Malfoy..." she started off unsure, looking at him.

Draco took out his wand, and Summoned the fairytale book. Once he had it in his lap, he pointed at the picture of the girl on the front. "Look at her, Professor. Then look at Granger," he instructed. The professor obliged, and when she looked at Granger she narrowed her eyes. She looked at the cover of the book again.

"Why, they look almost identical, yet completely different," she remarked, astounded.

Draco nodded. "And I'm presuming that Weasel – _Weasley_, was given the part of the dwarf, Grumpy?" he theorized.

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, then closed it. She opened it again, and said softly, "Madam Pomfrey thought that he inhaled the scent of the Wilting Mellow flower. Its scent is rumoured to have effects on one's height and physical age appearance."

Draco leaned in closer. "Professor, have you noticed any of the other students who have been cast the role of dwarves?"

"No, I have not," she said.

Draco looked at Potter. Even though he was sitting down, his presence oozed authority. His posture was upright and oozed with confidence. He always knew that Potter was an over-confident git, but Potter had _never _been one to pay attention to posture.

"Professor, what role did Potter get?" he asked, still looking at Potter.

"The King," she said. She looked at Potter, and Draco felt her acknowledging the exact same thing he just did.

Suddenly, she stood up. Draco stood up too. "Mr Malfoy, it could be a coincidence—"

Draco let out an incredulous noise. "_All _of it?"

The professor shook her head sadly. "Mr Malfoy, I don't think that something as insignificant as a musical can alter a person's _being_. It cannot issue death upon pure innocents."

Draco shook his head. "Part of what you are saying is true – the musical _is_ insignificant. Therefore, shouldn't everything be able to be reversed?"

Grief clouded the woman's eyes momentarily. "Death cannot be reversed, Mr Malfoy."

"Granger's mother wasn't _directly _involved though. There _must_ be a way—" he started, his eyes beseeching. His theory was right, he knew it. And he knew that the professor was believing his theory, too. He didn't want the story to go further. He couldn't allow for that to happen.

He knew how it ended.

The ending... he couldn't allow it.

Then a thought occurred to him. Maybe he was immune to the fairytale's charm. Maybe it had no power over him. Perhaps he was too strong for the magic of the fairytale to override him. Because, so far, nothing had happened to him. And it was day two, already.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

The professor looked at him. "Have a good trip, Mr Malfoy," she said, bringing him back to the present.

"Trip to where?" he asked, not thinking. Then he remembered, and he felt a heavy rock fall into the pit of his stomach. "Oh, yes. Of course, Professor."

"Please take care of her," she said quietly, motioning towards Granger. Draco looked over. The girl was smiling softly at something Potter had said. The professor continued, still looking at Granger, "She may look strong, but it only takes this much to break through a strong person."

Draco nodded stiffly. Now he was a caretaker. People should _not_ give them their hearts and minds to take care of. His were already half-broken. It was like asking a doctor with a damaged heart to perform open-heart surgery. How would the doctor feel?

"Very well. I'll take your leave now," the professor said. She walked passed him, and then stopped. She turned around, and looked at him.

"Mr Malfoy, did you by any chance get the part of Prince Charming?"

Draco felt confused. "I – yes, Professor. How did you know?"

"It shows," she said simply. Did that mean she believed in his theory? And with that, she hurried away, ushering the boys – Potter and the dwarf, Weasel – to get to class.

Draco hurried to his room. He looked into his mirror and almost cried out. His hair looked more golden now. His hair had _never_ been golden. It also looked softer. He reached up to touch it, and cringed. It _was_ softer. He leaned in closer to the mirror. His eyes were silver. They were _silver_. They had returned to their original colour. His lips weren't chapped anymore. They were smooth – a pale pink. Draco numbly traced his jaw line. He still looked like Draco Malfoy, even though he was already changing.

This could not happen.

His theory about his own "non-transformation" was wrong after all.

He would not let this happen.

He stripped down to his boxers. He had to change out of his school clothes. Today he wouldn't be at school. Just as he pulled his jeans on, he chanced another glance at the mirror. He gasped.

He had muscles. From Merlin knows where, he had no idea. His body did not look scrawny anymore. It looked lean but muscular at the same time. Not too muscular. He turned this way and that, analyzing each part of his body. He was undergoing a transformation.

Instead of feeling happy that he didn't look so disgraceful anymore (because he looked bloody handsome), he felt overwhelmed by grief. He was doomed.

The ending of the fairytale was sure to come, but how could he prevent it? Just to be sure he hadn't imagined the ending, he paged through the book again, until he got to one of the last pages.

_The prince was silent when he saw her skin as white as snow, her lips as red as blood and her hair as black as ebony. He said,_

"_Let me have her as my wife."_

_The dwarfs told him, "The princess is dead."_

"_I will bring her back to life with my love," answered the prince._

....

He was doomed. Handsome and all, he was seriously doomed.

---------------------------------------------------to be continued-------------------------------------------------------------

_**A/**_**N: Hope you people liked that! It was kinda fun writing it **** I didn't want to concentrate too much on Hermione's mum death. But your questions – wow, so many! – will be answered in the chapters to come.**

**Thanks to everybody for reviewing! You all really make my day! Seriously...you do.**


	13. Happenings During The Night

---------------------------------------------HAPPENINGS DURING THE NIGHT--------------------------------------------

Hermione grabbed a fistful of Floo powder in her hand and threw it into Professor McGonagall's fireplace. Green heatless flames rose from the powder and Hermione walked straight into it. She turned around so that she was facing the wide office. Her small bag was next to her, and she had Crookshanks cradled in her other arm. She looked at Malfoy who was standing stiffly upright, his bag by his feet. He looked calmly at her, and she noticed that there was something different about him. She couldn't figure out what it was though...

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, cueing Hermione's departure. "Thirteen Lea Bridge Road!" she yelled hoarsely, keeping her elbows tucked into her sides. She held her breath instinctively, and watched as Malfoy and Professor McGonagall disappeared before her eyes. The last thing she saw was the professor pouring Floo powder into Malfoy's hand.

Seconds later, she toppled out of the fireplace, hitting the carpet. When she got up, brushing the soot from her clothes, she discovered that the room was full of other people. Hermione felt her eyes widen. This was not what she had been expecting. They were staring at her and her luggage, then at the fireplace, wondering where on earth she had come from.

A haggard-looking man emerged from the crowd and walked slowly forward. "Her-Hermione," the man said. He looked around him quickly, and then back at Hermione. His face was streaked with tears but he managed to say, "I see you found your luggage on the roof. Don't know how it got there myself." Hermione remained silent, not even hearing what her father was saying. She could only focus on how old and haggard he looked. He turned to the man closest to him. "My daughter likes to use the chimney instead of the ladder..."

Crookshanks leaped out of Hermione's arms, and hurried outside. Hermione left her luggage and walked across the room to her father. She gathered the man in her arms and held his frail body close to her. He wept silently, and Hermione could feel his tears dribble down her neck. His tears evoked the grief in her that she had tried to bury since the morning. Her tears soon flowed, and she cried silently with him.

The bystanders muttered amongst themselves quietly. Hermione could hear whispers of "...shame..." and "...poor girl..." and "...only child...". She ignored them.

Not even a minute later she heard a sound behind her. She didn't want to turn around, but when a few of the people around her gasped, she let go of her father and turned around.

How was it possible that Malfoy had not fallen onto the carpet like she had? She glanced quickly around her, and then said quietly to her father, but loud enough for others to hear, "Dad, this is Draco Malfoy. He helped me to retrieve my luggage from the roof." She knew her father had not heard her; he was too lost in his own grief. She turned to Malfoy and said, "Thank you so much, Mal-Draco, for retrieving the rest of my luggage."

Draco had a half-confused look in his eyes, but he didn't say anything. He nodded once, trying to smile politely. The smiling part didn't work out too well. Hermione held out her hand to take the bag – his bag – from him, and Malfoy hesitantly held it out to her.

"If you would like to stay for some tea and biscuits, please do so," she told him fake-politely.

He nodded again, his eyes narrowing in confusion, and turned and left the room.

Muttering amongst the people erupted again, and Hermione turned back to her father. "Dad, I'll have to explain later, okay?" she whispered in an undertone, looking deep into his swollen eyes. Were her eyes as red as his? He nodded weakly, and she placed an arm around his shoulders and led him out the room. She took him to what used to be her parents' bedroom, and when she opened the door, she started to cry. The memories that rushed forth drowned her, but she battled to come back up to the surface.

After she had placed her puppet-like father on the bed and tucked him in – despite it only being midday – she closed the door behind her and leaned against it, breathing deeply. She hadn't realized that there'd be _this_ many memories. Things she had long forgotten now chose to resurface.

She went back downstairs, and informed the visitors that her father was not feeling well, and had retired to bed. The visitors took their leave at this, and Hermione was grateful for the silence. She sat on one of the couches, pulling her legs up against her, with her chin resting on her knees.

She had forgotten all about Malfoy until he entered the room again. She looked up, briefly startled, and then resumed her former position. He sat on the couch next to her.

"What was all that about before?" he asked, looking at her.

She could feel his intense gaze on her, but didn't look at him. She knew he was referring to her treatment of him when he had come out of her fireplace. "I had to," she said simply.

"I gathered that," Malfoy said, a tinge of impatience in his voice. "But why did you do that?"

"How would it have looked like to a bunch of Muggles, Malfoy, if two teenagers randomly toppled out of the fireplace with luggage strapped to their sides?" Hermione asked sensibly, staring at the floor.

"I didn't topple out of the fireplace, though," Malfoy said unnecessarily.

Hermione felt her lips twitch but she couldn't completely smile.

It was late evening now. He hadn't seen Mr Granger yet – properly, that is. The man hadn't come out of his room once since Granger had taken him up that day.

Draco was pacing up and down the guest room, deliberating. Should he, or shouldn't he? The whole day, he hadn't really needed his bag – it only had his clothes in it. But now that he needed to shower, and therefore change, he did need it.

He opened his door and walked across a hallway. He came to her door and knocked twice on it. He heard footsteps, and the door opened. Draco had to blink twice. The girl was clad in just a ... a _nightdress_. It was deep red in colour, and not exactly long. Draco blinked again, trying to regain his composure.

He was a man after all, and that red ... what with her red lips that she so kindly pointed out, and her black shiny hair ... it just threw him off a little. Her eyes were swollen, but their redness had disappeared.

That colour red was coming up a lot.

"Granger, what are you wearing?" he asked quietly, unable to stop himself. He had no shame in his words. He really wanted to know the answer.

Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean, Malfoy?" she asked, looking down at herself.

Draco tried to look casual. He leaned against her doorframe, and crossed his arms. "Because what you're wearing, it's ... Do you usually where items like this?"

The girl's eyes – were they usually _that_ brown? – widened. Because her hair was pulled up into a high pony, Draco could see her ears and how red they were turning. Was she embarrassed? "I wear this kind of clothing on a nightly basis, Malfoy," she said, obviously trying to remain calm.

Draco merely nodded, wondering why he had never noticed it before.

Granger stood there, waiting for him to say something, and when he didn't, she arched an eyebrow. "Well, what did you want?"

"I need my bag," Draco said. He pushed the door open, and not waiting for her to say yes or no, waltzed straight into her room. He was expecting bright pink walls, and fluffy cushions, but was greeted by a different sight. The room bordered on a maroon and cream colour theme. It looked very ... mature.

"Have you never heard of the term 'invasion of privacy', Malfoy?" she grumbled, crossing her arms, facing his back.

"Nope," he said, looking around her room. She had framed pictures all over her cream-coloured walls. The pictures were mainly of Potter and the Weasel, but there were others as well that had the faces of other Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Draco felt a bit put out that there weren't any Slytherins, but after a moment or two he got over it. "Granger, none of these pictures move, yet they're all of wizards and witches," he commented.

He heard a sigh from behind him, and turned around. She pointed her wand at the frames and flicked it. When Draco turned back to look at the pictures, they were moving. "What did you do?" he asked softly, staring at one.

"Seeing that this is a Muggle house, there are likely to be Muggle visitors who might come into my room. I had to put a Freezing Charm on the photographs," she said quietly, also looking around at the many photographs. They spent a moment or two in silence, each analyzing her pictures.

Draco heard a sound coming from outside. He turned to look at Granger. "Did you hear that?" he asked.

"Hear what?" she asked, still walking around her room, looking at the pictures.

Draco heard the sound again. "There it is again!"

Granger turned around and looked at him.

Draco peeped through her curtains to look outside. He could see a tall hooded figure stooping about in the yard. "Granger," he whispered slowly, still looking outside. "Come here."

She did. She stood beside him and looked out of her window. "What are we looking at, Malfoy?" she asked, her voice sounding immensely tired.

Draco squinted. Where had the figure disappeared to? He couldn't see it anywhere. He ducked his head, as if that would improve his eyesight. Still nothing. "I could've sworn I saw something," he muttered.

Hermione sighed, and her warm breath misted the window. She stared at the spot until it disappeared. Malfoy was losing it. It was official. She had so much on her mind – she still hadn't properly _felt_ the death of her mother yet, and now he was talking about hearing and seeing things? She shook her head, and turned to face him. Only thing was, they were not even a foot apart. In line of her vision was his chest, and Hermione had never realized that his chest was actually muscled. She raised her eyebrows in wonder, and raised her eyes to his face. Malfoy was still trying to look out of the window, for what, she didn't know.

His hair looked different though. What was different about it? He must have sensed her staring because he turned to look at her. When she saw his eyes, hope filled her. His eyes were now pure silver. What had happened in his life that had changed him for the better? she wondered. She realized that she was still staring at him, so she cleared her throat and in her mind she yelled, _Accio Malfoy's bag!_

His bag zoomed from the corner of her room, and knocked right into him. "Sorry about that," she murmured, still looking at him. He had bent down to catch his bag.

When he straightened, he asked bluntly, "Granger, why are you staring?"

Hermione blinked. "I was just wondering what happened to you to make you look better," she stated. Once the words were out, she realized how that must have sounded.

Something flashed in his eyes briefly, and he took a step backwards. And then another. "I'll be going then," he said quickly, and hurriedly left the room.

Hermione stared after him. She knew her words would have been misconstrued. Now he thought that she found him attractive.

Merlin help her.

* * *

Back in his room, Draco was breathing heavily. Once he had shut Granger's door behind him, he had hightailed it to his room. Then he had shut_ this _door. He threw his bag to a corner of the room, and he sat down heavily on the bed.

He mentally backtracked.

The Granger girl thought that he looked _better_. This, from any other female would have been highly appreciated. But it just happened to be _this_ female. So now more effects of the story were taking place. The girl was developing a little crush on him. He couldn't allow for that to happen. He just couldn't. He shuddered.

He grabbed the first thing he found in his bag, and hurried to the bathroom. Once he was showering, he let the hot water ease the tension away from his body. After about ten minutes of being under the pulsating water of the shower, he had seemed to calm down.

Who cared if the girl fell for him? What did it really mean to him? Before the War, he had many girls who pined after him, but he hadn't returned all of their affections. That would have been ridiculous. So let the girl have a crush on him. He wasn't obligated to return it – he _wouldn't_ return it. She was bound to get over him soon, when she figured that she couldn't hold a bubble in her hands forever.

He smiled to himself. Yes, there was a solution to everything. He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Once he'd finished towelling himself, he glanced at the mirror, and grinned.

A genuine grin he wasn't even aware of.

He looked _good_. He flexed his arm muscles, and twisted this way and that to analyze his stomach muscles. He shook his head in wonder and pulled up his boxers. He whistled a low tune and walked out of the bathroom.

Sighing, he plopped himself on the bed, and crossed his hands behind his head.

He heard a rustle outside, a sound alike to the ones he had heard in Granger's room. He pointed his wand at the light switch on the wall, and it flicked to the off position. His room was thrust into darkness, and he quickly jumped up. He raced to his window, and slowly pulled the curtain to the side.

The person – he was assuming it was a person – had come back and was now walking hurriedly across the Granger's yard to one of the windows of the house. Draco cocked his head, and he squinted. He wished he could call Granger to witness what he was seeing, but he was afraid that by the time he did that, the person would be gone.

It was a good thing he could see well in poor lighting. If not, he wouldn't have seen what happened next.

The person took out a stick from his pocket and waved it about in the air. Two seconds later, a plate appeared on his outstretched hand.

Draco gasped. The person was a wizard! What was a wizard doing in a Muggle area? More importantly, what was a wizard doing at the Granger residence?

The person reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet. Draco narrowed his eyes to see better. The packet appeared to be filled with biscuits! Biscuits? The person emptied the packet of biscuits onto the plate. Once he finished doing that, he waved his wand, and the plate with the biscuits disappeared. Where had it disappeared to?

The trees in the yard shook violently as a strong breeze swept through the garden. The person's hood blew off his head, and Draco suppressed another gasp. It was a woman! She looked around her quickly, bringing the hood back up to cover her hair. Her eyes rested on Draco's window, and he ducked out of sight. Had she seen him?

Draco counted to ten, and slowly peeked out of the window. He ducked again. She was still there! She must have seen him then.

He didn't dare to look again. He crawled to his door quickly. He reached up for the handle and twisted it. The door opened, and he crawled out. He glanced both left and right down the dark hallway, and reached behind him to close the door. He stood up, still glancing left and right, and took out his wand. _Lumos_, he thought, and the hallway was filled with wandlight.

He rushed to Granger's room, acting on instinct, and without bothering to knock, he opened it and shut it immediately.

He glanced around her room. The girl was fast asleep, and thankfully, her duvet was covering her whole body. He couldn't afford to be distracted. He tiptoed around her room, holding his wand up high. He glanced at her table, which was surprisingly neat.

But what he was looking for wasn't there.

His brow furrowed. Where could it be then? His mind was spinning as thoughts swirled around. He had a theory. It was far-fetched, but so far, most of his theories had been correct.

He felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Gah!" he gasped, whirling around. His heart was beating loudly, but he held his wand up high, a curse on his lips. When he saw who it was, he sighed, but his heart was still beating wildly. "Oh, thank Merlin. I thought you were someone else," he said in a whisper.

"Malfoy! What are you doing in here?" she whisper-screamed. Aided by his wand's light, he could see how her eyes were flashing angrily.

"Calm down, Granger," he said quietly. He looked at her intently, "I think you need to hear this."

"Hear what?" she bit out crossly, folding her arms over her chest.

Draco tried to focus on her eyes alone, but he couldn't help looking her up and down. He couldn't _help_ it. Bloody fairytale. He waved his wand, and a white gown appeared out of thin air. He caught it, and thrust it at her. "Wear this," he commanded in a low whisper.

Granger looked at the garment in confusion. "_Why?_"

"Because it's cold, and my story is long. Wear it," he repeated. She obliged, although reluctantly. Once she tied the waistband, Draco mentally breathed a sigh of relief. The gown fully covered her arms and legs.

"I feel hot though, Malfoy."

"You're going to get cold. Trust me," he assured her.

"Then why aren't _you_ wearing anything?" she whispered, looking down at him. He noticed her gaze lingering a bit longer on some parts. He had totally forgotten that he was clad in just boxers.

He shrugged. "I'm a man. We don't feel the cold easily," he said convincingly.

She shrugged. She walked to her bed and sat on it. "Fine. Now _tell_ me."

Draco rubbed his hands together, and sat on the bed a good few inches away from her. No need to give her ideas.

Once he got comfortable, he let his story rush out in a whisper. Her eyes widened at some parts. Towards the end of his 'story' it looked as though she wanted to interrupt him. He flashed her a look of irritation, but that didn't deter her.

"Did you just say '_biscuits_'?" she asked in a whisper. Her eyes were wide.

Draco nodded impatiently. "Yes, but please don't interrupt me." He continued, and then she butted in again.

"Did you just say that the plate with biscuits _disappeared_?" she asked, shocked.

Draco took in a deep breath. "Are you deaf? Did you not hear me just saying that?" he asked, irritation thick in his voice.

The girl nodded, either unaffected by his irritation or completely oblivious to it. "I know. I just cannot believe it." She paused. "Where did it disappear to?"

"I don't know now, do I?" Draco said through his teeth. "As I was _saying_, I think she saw me."

Granger let out a yelp. Draco _shh_-ed her. "Shut it! What if your father hears you?"

She ignored his words. "But Malfoy, what if she's evil or something? She saw you!" she yelled in a whisper.

He gritted his teeth. "I said 'I _think _she saw me'. It's not definite."

She buried her head in her hands, and Draco saw her hair cascade around her. It looked so soft and silky. Another theory of his. He didn't feel like proving it though. Just to be safe, he edged a bit farther from her.

"So why did you come here?" she asked through her hands.

"I think that she's up to something," he said quietly. "I thought that that plate of biscuits had disappeared to _here_. I think that those biscuits are poisoned."

His statement hung in the air. She didn't respond for a while, and then she said, "_What?_"

"Shh! You heard what I said," he said. He was looking out of the window.

"And _why_ do you think that?" she said, lowering her tone.

"A theory," he stated shortly. He hoped she could tell he didn't want to let on.

After a few moments she sighed. "So did you find anything?"

"No."

She sighed again. "So now what?" she asked.

Draco looked over at her. How had she come so close to him? Hadn't he moved away from her? He edged sideways away from her. "I first thought that the biscuits were intended for you – don't ask why," he added, when he saw her open her mouth to question him. "But now, I think they're for your father."

"My father," she stated, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded.

"And you aren't going to tell me why you think that, are you?" she asked.

_She caught on quickly_, he thought. That makes things easier. "No," he said simply, looking at her.

She nodded, her head turning away from him. Her lips twitched as she thought of something.

"Let me go check then," she said getting up.

Draco reached out and grabbed her hand. It was an instinctive reaction. Her eyes widened and she looked down at his hand on her wrist. He let go immediately, and stood up. "You can't go," he said quietly.

She cocked her head. "And why not? Oh wait," she said before he could say anything. "Is this another one of your theories?"

"Yes, it is actually," he said.

"Good to know," she said, nodding. She walked to her door and opened it.

"Where are you going!" he whisper-yelled.

She ignored him and walked out. He shook his head in annoyance, and rushed after her.

She looked at him beside her. "Why are _you_ coming?"

"Because between the two of us, I'm the only one with the wand," he whispered, hoping that that would convince her. He wouldn't ever tell her that there was a possibility that the stranger could be lying in wait for them.

It wasn't that he wanted to protect her. She didn't need protection, he knew that. It was just an instinctive reaction that he couldn't explain.

She nodded, and carried on walking. When they both arrived at her parents' door, they noticed light under the door. They looked at each other, and he mouthed, _Stay here_. He reached to turn the knob, but she touched his hand gently, and shook her head. His hand shrunk back from the contact, and she mistook his reaction for a go-ahead.

She turned the knob slowly, and Draco held up his wand, prepared. The door creaked open, and they stepped into the room. Neither was prepared for what they saw.

Draco saw an old-looking man sitting upright in his bed, reading by lamp-light and munching on some biscuits. Draco felt his insides go cold. He heard Granger gulp.

"Daddy?" she asked softly.

The man looked up from his book, and smiled. "Hermione, dear," he said warmly. His gaze turned on Draco and he asked, "And who is this young man?"

"He's from school, Daddy. Professor McGonagall asked him to escort me home," she said, her voice shaking slightly. She shot a glance out the un-curtained windows, and then glanced quickly at Draco. Draco nodded, and flicked his wand. The curtains drew themselves closed, and they could no longer see the window,

"Aha," Mr Granger said. Whether it was in response to what Granger had just told him or to what Draco had just said, Draco didn't know.

Granger stepped forward towards her father. Draco followed her movements with his eyes. He remained stationary. "Daddy, where did you get those biscuits from?" she asked. A linger of despair coloured her voice, and Draco looked at her sympathetically.

The man looked at his daughter, and smiled. "Why, when I woke up, I just found them lying on my pedestal. I thought you left them there, dear."

Granger shook her head mutely. Draco could tell she wanted to scream, wanted to say something, but she couldn't. "And why did you get up, Daddy?" Her voice still sounded so patient, but Draco could see she was battling for control.

Mr Granger shrugged. "Don't know, actually. Do you know what time it is?" He looked enquiringly at her.

"It's one in the morning, Daddy," Granger said, her patience slowly leaving her voice. Draco sensed that she was bordering on a scream.

Draco took the reins now. He stepped forward. "Mr Granger, do you feel any different after eating those biscuits?"

The man shook his head slowly, looking at Draco. "Should I? I feel lighter though. Almost... liberated."

"Liberated," Granger repeated.

"Yes, liberated," he replied, still looking at Draco.

"Hermione dear, is he your ... _partner_?"

Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably, and suppressed a laugh. He looked away, and focused his attention on Granger's reaction. This ought to be interesting.

Her hair was covering her ears, so he couldn't tell if they were red or not, but he could bet they were. Her mouth dropped open, but she closed it quickly. "Partner in what, Daddy?" she asked, playing innocent.

Draco shook his head, a small smile on his lips. She knew perfectly well what her father was talking about.

"Are you two together?" her father asked, gazing at Granger.

"Of course not, Daddy, that would be ridiculous."

Draco felt something clench in his stomach. It was probably the way in which she said what she had just said. It was the tone, not the content of her words that caused him to react negatively. _Just the tone._ He shrugged it off.

"Because I wouldn't mind, you know," Granger's father said. "He looks like quite a charming young fellow," he said, appraising Draco.

Draco remained standing still, but he inclined his head. "Thank you, Sir, but I can assure you, Gran – I mean, Hermione and I are no more than colleagues."

"Pity," Mr Granger said, closing his book, munching on another biscuit. "It's about time you find someone else now, Hermione. After what that Weasley boy did to you..." Curiosity flickered in Draco, and he looked at Granger.

She was looking at her father, biting her lip. "Daddy, are you sure you're okay?" she asked. She knelt on the floor beside the bed.

He patted her head. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you. In fact, I've never felt better."

Granger's eyes widened. She stared at her father incredulously. "Sorry, could you please repeat that?"

Draco couldn't blame her. Even he felt a bit shocked. The man's wife had just died, for Merlin's sake.

"I said that I've never felt better." He picked up another biscuit, and bit into it. Draco stared at the biscuit thoughtfully.

Granger shook her head slowly. "But Daddy, Mum just ... she just _died_. How can you say that?"

He looked at her sadly. "I know, honey. And I need to move on now. I need to –"

Granger stood up quickly. "You need to _WHAT?" _she screeched, her hands flying up.

"It's time I move on," her father said simply.

"It's only been a _day!"_ she yelled, stalking forward.

Draco felt another theory coming on. "Granger, come away—"

"Stay out of this, Malfoy!" she shouted at him. "Daddy, what are you saying?"

"Have you heard of the woman Gladys Winter?" her father asked by way of answering.

"No, I _HAVEN'T_!" Granger yelled.

"Well, I think I'm going to marry her," Granger's father said calmly.

"_WHAT?_"

It all made sense now. Draco was surprised Granger couldn't see it yet. He walked slowly towards her.

"These biscuits are quite tasty, you know. Do we have any more of them?" Mr Granger asked, staring at his empty plate.

"NO, WE DON'T!"

Draco held his breath, and gripped Granger's shoulders gently. He pulled her back slightly. "Granger, calm down," he whispered into her ear from behind her. "It's not him that's speaking."

"OF COURSE IT'S HIM THAT'S SPEAKING! LET _GO_ OF ME!" she yelled, trying to break loose from his grip. He pulled her back a bit more. He found it quite difficult to control her by holding her shoulders, so he dropped his hands, and held her wrist, pulling her towards the door.

He ignored her screams. "Goodnight, Mr Granger," he called out. He shut the door behind him, and dragged Granger behind him to her room. Once he got there, he let go of her hand. He wiped his hand on his boxers.

The girl was sobbing. She sat down on her bed, weak.

He really did feel sorry for her.

"Granger, let me explain," he said softly.

--------------------------------------------------------to be continued--------------------------------------------------------

_**A**_**/N: Longest chapter by far **** hope you guys liked it. It was kinda fun writing it. Thank you all so much for your reviews. Also, I'm sure you've noticed by now that I only update during the weekend. I really don't have time during the week. So I try to get a chapter every weekend. So, hope this one was worth the wait **


	14. Connection

---------------------------------------------------------CONNECTION----------------------------------------------------------

Hermione lifted her head to look at Malfoy. Her face felt wet, and _she_ felt horrible. How could her father stoop to such low levels? She murmured, "W-what, Malfoy?" She hated that it came out as a stutter. She hated the fact that Malfoy, of all people, had seen her at her weakest. He must think that she was a weak, frail thing. She hated that it was Malfoy who had to mind her.

The sight of him in just his boxers seemed to have, at first, adverse affects on her. Couldn't he be better clothed? It wasn't exactly the hottest of days. She raised her eyes from his stomach muscles – she had no idea she was even _looking_ there – to his eyes. His mouth twitched, and something slid across the surface of his cool, silver eyes. Hesitation, perhaps?

Hermione wiped her face with the back of her hand. "Tell me, Malfoy," she demanded in a thick voice.

He opened his mouth, and then closed it, and his eyes flashed briefly to the window. Hermione turned to follow his gaze, but didn't see anything. She turned back to look at him, and let out a soft sigh of frustration. "Can it be that hard?" she asked softly, trying to look into his eyes, but he was still looking out of the window.

Malfoy looked at her then. His eyes, despite the fact that they had completely melted, were unreadable. He bit his lip. "Not exactly, Granger," he said hesitantly.

Hermione levelled a gaze with him. "It's a yes or no question," she stated, irritation grasping the edges of her voice.

He shook his head once – to himself, Hermione was sure – and took a place next to her on the bed, though – Hermione noticed – a good few spaces away from her. She almost snapped at him for doing that; she didn't know why the action insulted her. Yet, she understood that he needed time to manage body contact.

He looked at her intently. "Granger, our lives are a fairytale," he said simply, inflicting hardly any emotion into his voice.

Hermione felt how her eyebrow lifted up in surprise. Coming from any other boy that would have sounded romantic; yet from Malfoy it sounded completely out of place.

Unfortunately, he saw right through her.

He closed his eyes briefly, breathing in slowly. Once he opened them, he looked at her, his eyes seeming more silver than ever. "I didn't mean it like _that_, Granger," he said quietly. Despite the non-smile upon his face, could she hear a smile in his voice?

Hermione felt her ears burn – they were surely red. She diverted her eyes to look elsewhere. "Don't be ridiculous, Malfoy," she tried to say in a strong, convincing tone. Yet the truth of his words and the tears she had just shed did not help her. "You know that wasn't what I meant."

She turned to look at him, and was extremely surprised to see a half-smile gracing his lips. Something moved inside Hermione, and she realized with a shock that it was her heart quivering. _Why would it do that?_ she mentally questioned herself. After a few split-seconds, she put it down to the fact that she hadn't ever seen Malfoy produce a genuine smile, albeit a half-smile, so there really was hope for him.

He must have read something on her face, because his smile vanished almost as quickly as it had come. Hermione mentally sighed. Well, not everybody could screen their emotions.

"As I was saying," he said in a monotone, "our lives are part of a fairytale."

Hermione was about to object when he flashed her an irritated look.

"_More specifically_, the fairytale of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves," he said in the same, dull monotone.

Hermione absorbed this new information with difficulty. Grasping what he had said was no problem. It was the actual _content_ that was the problem. "Excuse me?" she replied intelligently.

He edged closer to her, probably absent-mindedly. "Don't you see?" he asked, a hiss of frustration in his voice. He licked his lips. "I was trying to explain to McGonagall, but she only half-believed me...Actually, I think I might have convinced her, come to think of it...And what happened with your father ties up with my theory..."

Something snapped in Hermione when he mentioned her father, but she shook her head. "Malfoy, you're making no sense. Could you start at the beginning?"

He raked a hand through his hair, sighing. "I'm warning you, though, it's a lot to take in. Especially the one part, so be on your guard," he murmured, and Hermione felt like he was seeing right into her.

She tilted her head, curiosity perked. "Enlighten me, please." She found it difficult to return his gaze with the same intensity, so she merely looked at him.

"Right, basically, everything that happens in the fairytale, happens to us in reality."

"What?" Hermione couldn't stop herself from asking.

He narrowed his eyes slightly. "Patience. I'm getting there. Yes, so everybody who was chosen for a certain role in the musical has adopted the face value of everything to do with the character they play. Now, when I say face value, I mean _everything_ that is narrated in the book happens."

Hermione didn't know what to say. "Uh huh," she settled upon.

His eyes narrowed properly now. "You don't believe me," he stated. Not a question.

"It's not that I don't believe you," she said slowly. "It just sounds really impossible."

"You're a _witch_, Granger!" he cried out. "How can you say that it's impossible?"

Hermione straightened. "Even in the magical world, Malfoy, some things _are_ impossible."

He leaned slightly towards her. "So you don't believe me."

"It's not that—"

"You don't believe me," he said in a cool voice, his eyes focused on her.

"Well—"

"Granger," he said, clearly irritated.

She sighed. "Fine, I don't believe you. It sounds like a load of bogwash. What supports your theory, Malfoy?"

He stood up suddenly. "Are you _blind_, Granger?" he spat out, pacing up and down in front of her. "Have you not seen the many absurd things that have been happening around us? That have been happening _to _us?"

Hermione felt the urge to stand up as well. So she did. "In case you haven't noticed, Malfoy, a lot has been on my mind, so _excuse_ me for being blind to other insignificant things!" she half yelled.

Malfoy shot a quick look at the door, then back at her. "Shut it, will you? Your father might be asleep."

Hermione waved his sentence off with her hand. "What did you mean about things happening to us?"

"So now you're all eager to know?" His pacing had stopped, and he had come to a standstill in front of her.

She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting.

He sighed, and his gaze dropped briefly to her lips. Hermione felt incredibly awkward. "Granger, you said it yourself. Your lips are redder than they ever were—" Hermione cleared her throat self-consciously when he said this. "—And remember when I told you that your hair was black? No more brown like how it used to be? _It's_ _still black,_ Granger," he finished off in a rush. Hermione reached up to touch her hair. "You look almost exactly like Snow White, yet you still look like Hermione Granger."

"But internally I haven't changed," Hermione argued quietly, still fingering a lock of her hair.

Malfoy was staring at her hair in her fingers as he said, "That's what I meant about face value. The book doesn't say anything about personality. It's a given that Snow White is a sweet girl. And you're...well, at times you can be fiery, but you can ... be s-sweet other times, as well," he ended off jerkily. He looked unsure about what he had been saying, yet Hermione could hear the sincerity in his words.

Before she could mutter a 'thank you', he carried on, "Point is, things are changing. I mean, look at me. I had never been this ... _built_ before." Hermione automatically dropped her gaze to look at his stomach muscles.

"You have, though," she said without thinking.

His eyes flashed briefly. "Sorry, what?"

"Nothing. You were saying?" she said, trying to get off the subject. The last thing she needed was for him to have his belief of her being infatuated with him confirmed.

"No, tell me," he insisted.

She rolled her eyes. "I said that you _have_ been, in your words, 'built' before," she said, trying to sound offhand.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Really?"

"Yes," she said, grudgingly.

"When?" he sounded genuinely interested.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy, I can't remember. It was fifth year, I think. And you were swimming in the Black Lake."

His eyebrows were raised. "I thought you said you didn't remember."

Hermione mentally cursed herself for even remembering. "But then I did. Now let's move on," she said.

He had a full smile on his face now. "Why were you looking in the first place?"

"I don't know," she snapped. "Stop grinning, it's annoying."

"Is it really that annoying?" he asked, his grin still gracing his features.

It wasn't annoying at all, but he didn't have to know that. "Extremely," Hermione said grumpily. "I think I liked it better when you were sad and depressed."

Her words wiped off his grin immediately, and she instantly felt horrible. "Sorry, Malfoy, I didn't mean—"

"Everything around us is changing," he cut across her, blatantly rejecting her apology. She felt stung, but paid attention to what he was saying. "If you noticed yesterday, Weasley's height was like that of a dwarf, and he was looking bloody annoyed. Also, McGonagall told me that he got the part of Grumpy...the dwarf." Hermione absorbed this, and she nodded.

"Hypothetically, seeing that I play Snow White, what is going to happen to me? Hypothetically, that is," she added. She hoped he wouldn't guess as to what she was exactly asking.

"Hypothetically, Granger?" he repeated. "There is no 'hypothetically' about it. This is real. This is _happening_."

She hesitated.

"I know you don't believe me yet, but what I hope that my next few words will convert you," he said. He stepped closer to her, and in a gentler tone, he asked, "Do you remember what happened to the Queen?"

"She died," Hermione murmured.

"And then do you remember what happened shortly after that?" he asked in the same soft tone, staring at her intently.

"The King remarried," she said softly, things slowly clicking into place.

"Granger, what happened to your mother?" he asked really quietly. It was just above a whisper.

"She died..."

"And what is your father planning on doing?"

"On remarrying..."

He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. She understood now. Even though he had left out many details, she understood. She gasped. A delayed reaction.

She walked forward slowly, and held him. She didn't care if he didn't like body contact. He would have to deal with it. Because right now, she needed this. "Dear Merlin," she whispered into his neck. She noticed how rigid his frame had gone. She noticed that he had stopped breathing altogether.

But she ignored it all, and held him tighter, breathing in his calming scent. She really needed this. Or else she'd faint. Her arms were around his neck and she was just breathing in and out, in and out, in and out...

She could hear his heart thudding. Was he that uncomfortable? She pulled away, deciding that she'd stretched it out long enough. When she pulled away, his body visibly relaxed, and again she felt stung. She brushed it off, and sank to the floor. "Sorry, I needed it," she said to the carpet. She didn't bother looking up. She knew that he was taking time to control his emotions.

Not long after, he sat down too, directly across her. She raised her head. "So what are we going to do?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, looking down at the carpet. His fingers trailed over a pattern.

"So everything is definitely going to happen, then?" she asked, hoping he would say no.

He just nodded.

She took a moment. Then, "So that woman my father mentioned, Gladys Winter ... she's going to be the evil step-mother?"

"Mm-hm," he said. It came out like a hum.

"And we can't prevent their marriage from happening?" she asked.

He looked up slowly. "There is _nothing_ in the book that can be prevented," he said quietly. There was more in his words than he was letting on.

"But we can do something to stop her," Hermione said firmly.

"What do you mean?" Malfoy asked.

"My father obviously has been charmed into thinking that he must marry this woman. The potion must have been mixed into those biscuits. So, he is completely vulnerable to whatever she does. She _is_ a witch, after all..."

"So what are you suggesting?"

"We cast a permanent Shield Charm over my father. It shouldn't be that difficult," Hermione said, determined.

Malfoy looked surprised. "Granger, we leave tomorrow evening. How do you propose we do this in just a day?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You obviously don't trust anyone but yourself. I'm going to owl Professor McGonagall, requesting instructions. You said that you almost convinced her, so it shouldn't be a problem."

Malfoy nodded his head slowly. "That's all good, Granger, but what about all the other bits in the book? No matter what we do, _everything_ in the book has to happen, whether we try to prevent it or not..." he trailed off, and broke his gaze away from Hermione's. "That includes the poisoned apple, your death, and..." he stopped.

Draco couldn't bring himself to say the rest of the sentence. He wouldn't look at Granger.

"And the marriage," she whispered.

He flinched. There was no need to say it out loud, for Merlin's sake! He cleared his throat, and said in strong voice, "But by that time, I would have found out the solution to the problem, and a way in which to reverse everything."

He could feel her gaze on him, but he didn't return it. He toyed with the carpet, leaning his head against the bed.

"There's no 'I' in this, Malfoy," she said, her voice going a little high.

Draco closed his eyes. "And why not?" he asked.

"Because this is my life, _too,_ you bloody idiot! You can't figure it out all by yourself—"

"And why not?" he asked, cutting across her hot temper-ridden words.

"We need to do this _together_, Malfoy. We need to work as a team. I am the most affected—"

Draco let out a short, humourless laugh, his eyes still closed. He could hear her fuming.

"Malfoy, it's called _Snow White_ and the Seven Dwarves, not _Prince Charming_ and the Seven Dwarves." It was obvious she was battling to control her anger. The girl just couldn't control herself.

He swivelled his head around to face her, and opened his eyes. "I don't like the idea of working in a team," he said softly.

Her dark brown eyes narrowed, and she replied thinly, "You better start liking it, then. There's this Muggle saying, 'two heads are better than one'. If we work together in solving this, then we can prevent a whole torrent of things from happening." The corners of her mouth lifted up in a polite smile. "So are you in, or out?" Her eyes searched his, delving deep for the answer. Draco didn't think she'd find anything. He had mastered the art of concealment.

He shook his head.

"Please," she whispered. She was looking at him really intently, and Draco wasn't too sure what made him do it, but he nodded.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

His lips twitched. He was going to regret this.

"I'm going to owl Professor McGonagall now, then. For instructions on that Protection Shield," Granger said. A yawn escaped her mouth, and she lifted up her hand to glance at her watch. Draco raised his eyebrows. He thought that he was the only one to sleep with his watch. The girl sighed, and her hand dropped heavily to the floor. "It's two, and I have to be up in four hours to help with ... funeral preparations..." she trailed off, and Draco looked away. She was getting sad again.

"You go sleep," he found himself saying. "I'll owl her."

"No, it's okay. I can do it," she replied. But she still sounded so unbearably sad. Draco couldn't handle it.

"I insist," he insisted, looking back at her. He held his breath, and pulled her up by her arm. Her eyes widened. He ignored her obvious surprise. "Now sleep," he ordered, once they were both standing up.

She smiled a small smile, and began to untie the waistband on her gown. Draco clenched his jaw. Once the waistband had come undone, she pulled the gown off, and handed it to him. "Thanks," she said. He nodded stiffly, taking the cotton garment into his hands. He refused to look at her. He _wouldn't _look at her. In fact, he would look at the photographs on the wall.

"Well, goodnight," her voice came from somewhere to his right. He nodded again, and took it as his cue to leave. Once he was in the passage, he breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't looked at her! He raced to his room, but just before he turned the corner, he couldn't stop himself from looking back at her door.

* * *

The funeral went off smoothly. Granger cried, she offered weak smiles to sympathizers, she offered her support to her father, who seemed only partly disturbed by his wife's death. His attention was partly diverted throughout the ceremony. Other than that minor hiccup, Mrs Granger couldn't have had a better sending off. Granger gad told Draco that her mother wanted to be buried, so that wish of hers was answered. Next to the grave spot, Granger had planted a bunch of bright pink petunias. "She would have liked them," the girl had said through tears as she stared at the mound of soil covering the coffin.

* * *

Due to the number of people giving Draco odd looks for not sympathizing with her properly, he awkwardly held an arm around her shoulders throughout the morning. She didn't seem to notice, for which Draco was thankful for. He felt extremely uncomfortable. The other people must have thought they were "an item", or something. Bleugh. Disgusting.

Even as the thought of the two of them together coursed through his mind, he couldn't suppress a shudder. This seemed to alert Granger who was tucked beneath his arm. She looked up at him. "Are you cold?"

"No," he replied a bit too sharply. She looked affronted, but she didn't say anything. He dearly wanted to let go of her and stay several metres from her, but he clenched his jaw, and remained in his position. They were still in the graveyard, surrounded by dozens of strangers. She was staring at her father who was talking animatedly with a beautiful woman. The woman looked oddly familiar.

As Draco watched, Mr Granger brought the woman forwards by the hand, and began walking towards Draco and Granger. _Uh oh_, Draco thought, sensing Granger tense. "Hold it," he whispered, trying not to move his lips. Granger's father and the woman were fast approaching.

"But if I do something, do not stop me," Granger warned him, not bothering to block the movement of her lips.

Before Draco could reply, Mr Granger and the woman were already by them.

"Darling!" Mr Granger exclaimed, beaming at Granger. To the girl's credit, she didn't return the sugar-coated smile, but instead smiled politely, deliberately not looking in the direction of the woman.

"Dad," Granger acknowledged.

"Hermione, I thought you said that you and Draco weren't together?" her father asked. Draco immediately dropped his arm from around Granger's shoulders, and stepped sideways away from her.

Granger shot Draco a look. "No, we're not together, Daddy."

"You don't have to keep it a secret, dear," her father said, winking.

Draco wanted to laugh, but due to the venue, he couldn't. He saw Granger roll her eyes. "Dad—"

Mr Granger cut across her. "And speaking of _secrets_, this is Gladys Winter!" he declared loudly, motioning towards the woman on his left. Both Draco and Granger looked at the woman then. Draco looked a bit longer. Gladys Winter was without a doubt extremely beautiful, but there was something about her that seemed familiar. He felt that he had seen her somewhere before. Her violet eyes narrowed when they met his silver ones. Her mouth twitched unattractively, and Draco watched with surprise as he saw a muscle popping in her jaw.

Yes, he definitely knew this woman from somewhere.

"Sorry, but do I know you?" he asked her.

She ignored him, and turned her attention towards Granger. She reached over to hug Granger; Granger's arms didn't even reach up, they remained at her sides. "You must be Hermione! The girl I hear so much about." She beamed brightly, and her smile looked more like a snarl.

Granger exchanged a look with Draco. Then she said coolly, "Can't say I've heard much about you, I'm afraid."

"Oh!" Gladys gasped, slapping Mr Granger's shoulder lightly. "Your daughter's so funny!" Her eyes flashed dangerously in Granger's direction, and Draco itched to use his wand.

"Yes, she's quite the comedian," Mr Granger murmured. He rubbed his hands together. "Well, Hermione, Draco, I would just like to tell you that I'm marrying Gladys tomorrow. Isn't that wonderful news?"

Draco observed two people: Granger, who was clenching and unclenching her fists. He could tell that she wanted to say something, but they were both expecting this announcement. Then he looked at Gladys Winter, who was looking at Granger intently. She had a sly look in her eyes that Draco didn't like. He was familiar with it. It was a look that he had been taught of how to look at people by a certain someone. Or something. Really, what could Voldemort be classified as? A something, or a someone?

And then it hit him. No wonder she had looked so familiar! No wonder she wouldn't acknowledge him! She refused to even look at him – she was afraid of him recognizing her.

"Yes, it's wonderful news, Dad," was Granger's hard-edged reply. "I wish you both the very best. Unfortunately, I won't be able to make it for the wedding as Mal – I mean, Draco and I have to leave for school this evening."

Draco was still looking at Gladys Winter. Her mouth had flickered when Granger mentioned that they wouldn't be here. He couldn't pinpoint that expression. What was it? Dissatisfaction?

Draco didn't care if he hated it, but he reached down to grip Granger's wrist. "We have to go, Gr-Hermione," he said, injecting urgency into his tone. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Gladys looking at them curiously. Mr Granger didn't seem too bothered. Granger understood his look, and nodded. "Yes, we have that...thing to do," she said. Draco felt like kicking something. The girl wasn't good at acting blasé.

Gladys caught on immediately. "What thing?" she asked, smiling sweetly.

Draco turned to look at her. "Packing. We're leaving in a few hours. Pleasure meeting you for the _first time_, Miss Winter," he said icily.

Her eyes narrowed. "Pleasure's all mine."

Draco watched as her hand slipped into her pocket, no doubt to grab her wand. He shook his head once, hoping that she'd get the idea. There wouldn't be a need for violence in a graveyard.

She smiled a beautiful, cruel smile. Thankfully, Mr Granger was hugging Granger goodbye during this time. He hadn't witnessed a second of his soon-to-be-wife's temporary lapse in character. Or out.

He turned to face Draco and held out his hand. "Thanks for taking care of my daughter, son. You have my blessing," he said kindly.

Draco suppressed another shudder, and smiled thickly. "Thank you, Sir. Good day."

He held Granger's wrist and the two of them walked to a deserted spot. "Hold on," he warned. Her eyes widened, and she gripped his shirt tightly. He thought of her house, and Disapparated. Seconds later, they were outside her house. She let go of him, and blinked. She waved her wand, and the door opened. They stepped inside. "Why did we have to leave so early?"

He raced up to his room, and he heard Granger following. Sure enough, there was an owl on his table. There was a reason why he had left his window open in the morning. "That woman used to be a Death Eater, Granger," he said hurriedly, as he detached the letter from the owl's leg.

"_What?_" Granger gasped.

Draco turned around, pity enveloping him. "Yes, I recognized her. And she happened to recognize me, too. Which is why we have to leave as soon as possible."

Her eyes widened. "You're worried for your _own_ life, when my father is marrying an ex- _Death Eater?!_" she shrieked.

Draco stepped forward towards her, the letter clasped in his hand. "Need I remind you that I also used to be a Death Eater, Granger, and that I haven't tried to kill you?"

"Yes, Malfoy, but that _woman_ is planning on _killing_ me! We have to stay here and fight!" The girl was getting worked up.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. He was actually finding it easier to maintain body contact for more than two seconds. "Granger, please calm down," he said soothingly. "I have here the instructions for the Permanent Shield Charm." He shook the piece of parchment, emphasizing his point.

"Read it," she urged him.

Draco rolled his eyes. What else was he supposed to do with it?

He opened the letter, and read through it quickly. Then, he read through it again. He folded it, and tossed it aside. "Apparently, it works like a normal Shield Charm, yet it needs a stronger spell-caster to make it permanent," he said, surprised.

"Well, aren't we strong enough?" Granger asked.

"That's what I also thought," he admitted. "But according to McGonagall, we're not."

Granger let out a humourless laugh. "But we're the cleverest in our year! Of course we're strong enough!"

"I think that's the point," Draco said. He recapped what the letter said. "Individually, we're fine. Sure we can cast fair spells. But, McGonagall seems to think that _combined_ we would be more powerful. Added to the fact that we're supposed to have a connection—"

"A what?" Granger snapped.

He sighed. "A connection, Granger. The fact that Prince Charming brings Snow White back to life suggests that they have a connection. McGonagall thinks, that if my theory is correct (which I'm sure it is), then we also have a connection."

"That sounds absolutely bizarre," she commented, her eyebrows raised.

Draco nodded. "I know. But it's plausible. So, do you want to try this?"

"What exactly do we have to do?" she asked, glancing at the discarded letter.

"We have to physically connect the parts where magic flows freely from," he said numbly. He knew where these two parts were.

"You mean our bodies?" she asked, tilting her head.

He cleared his throat. "I don't understand why, but yes. Our bodies."

"So either the heart or the mind," she stated. She bit her lip, thinking. So she really _was_ clever. Not many people knew that magic came from the heart and mind. "But seeing that we can't actually connect _those_, does that mean it's between the...chest and forehead?"

They looked at each other, and together, said, "Forehead."

Draco nodded. Yes, chest-to-chest would be extremely uncomfortable. Even though it would be like a hug...it wouldn't be the same thing. Forehead-to-forehead shouldn't be too bad. Painful, yes. But not too bad. "You know how to do non-verbal spells, right?" he asked.

She just looked at him.

Draco took that as a 'yes'. "Of course you do. We have to focus on the Shield Charm spell at the same time but, because he's not here, we'll have to picture your father very clearly. Our wands will have to be out, and our foreheads touching."

She stared at him blankly. "That's it?"

He shrugged. "That's all she had in the letter."

"But how will we know if it has worked, or not?"

He shrugged again. "I honestly don't know. I've never done this before." He took out his wand, and she mimicked him.

They stood across from each other. Draco took the first step forward, then she. Soon, they were just a few inches apart. He wondered how he should go about doing this. It seemed very...strange. He stared into her dark brown eyes, and she stared into his eyes. When he didn't do anything, she went on her tiptoes. She placed her hands on his shoulders for support, and Draco froze. It took time getting used to this kind of contact.

She noticed. "Malfoy, you need to relax in order for this to work," she murmured. Due to their close proximity, it was pointless speaking in normal tones. "Please," she added.

At first, he didn't accede. He didn't even know why he was doing this in the first place. He wasn't getting anything out of it. But then, something in her eyes – golden flecks of warmth – seemed to reach out to him. He slowly relaxed, his body pulling out of its rigidity.

He reached into his pocket for his wand, and she reached into her pocket for hers, keeping her one hand on his shoulder. He held his wand above his head, and she followed suit. Then, hesitantly, their heads leaned towards each other. He never broke eye contact with her until they finally had to bow their heads against each other, to avoid their noses and lips touching. Their heads touched, and Draco only felt the warmth of her skin against his.

"I'm going to count to three," he whispered, staring at the floor as he had nowhere else to look.

"Mm-hm," came her reply.

"One," he started. "Two," he gripped his wand tighter, and could also feel the pressure on his shoulder from her hand increase. Was she nervous? Or scared that it wasn't going to work? "Three."

_Protego!_ He thought of her father, and he prayed that she had thought of the spell and the image at the same time as he.

Suddenly, his forehead became hotter. A tingling sensation spread from his forehead to the rest of his body. His body felt on fire, and he desperately wanted to break from the contact. Yet, he also never wanted to let go. The power surge felt addictive. Her nails dug into his shoulder. She must have been feeling the same thing. He could feel her slipping – perhaps her knees were getting weak? – so he placed a hand on her waist, supporting her. She slipped back into place, against his head. Gradually, the heat began to fade away, and the tingling sensation soon stopped.

Sparks.

Sparks from their wands cascaded around them.

He slowly drew away from her, and his face felt cold. He looked at her, and her eyes were filled with something he couldn't place. Awe? Wonder? He felt the same way. He hadn't ever experienced such powerful magic that had filled every fibre of his being. It felt magical. Her hand was still on his shoulder, and his hand was still on her waist. He quickly dropped his hand and turned away from her, trying to control his emotions.

"So you think it worked?" he heard her ask. Her words came out in a rush.

"Definitely," he said, staring at his wand. "It definitely worked."

They took a moment to process what had just occurred between them. _What _had_ occurred? _was the thought running through both their minds. And then, as if by silent mutual agreement, they began to pack their bags, preparing to leave.

-------------------------------------------------------to be continued---------------------------------------------------------

_**A/**_**N: Hope that wasn't too bad. I had loads of fun writing it. **** Thanks for all the reviews ... really, THANK YOU**


	15. Friends

------------------------------------------------------------FRIENDS--------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione raced up the staircase the boys' dormitories. She threw open the door, and she stared at the bespectacled boy who had a clouded expression upon his face. "Harry," she said, a tone of warning colouring her panting voice. "Don't even _go_ down that road."

Harry looked up from the framed photograph that he had been staring at. He smiled giddily, and replied, "What road, Hermione?"

Hermione glanced over at Ron who was trying to get down from his bed without falling down. Hermione, briefly distracted by this, asked him, "Ronald, why don't you place a stool next to your bed? It will make it much easier to get down."

Ron paused from trying to get off his bed to shoot her a heated look. "I'm...perfectly..._fine_," he muttered, resuming the act of getting off the bed.

Harry laughed, which brought Hermione back to the reason why she had come. She walked over to Ron, and before he could say anything, she placed two hands under his armpits and carried him off the bed.

"Let _go_ of me!" he yelled, squirming.

"Stop squirming, Ronald," Hermione scolded, placing him on the floor. Ronald brushed his clothes, staring at Hermione angrily.

"That was completely unnecessary, Hermione," he complained.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and sat on his bed. She faced Harry, who had gone back to looking at the photograph. "Harry, give me that," she ordered sternly, motioning towards the picture.

"No," Harry sighed, a smile gracing his features. He leaned his head on one hand, gazing at the photograph with admiration.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I _said_, give me that!" She waved her wand and yelled in her mind, _Accio photograph!_

The photograph zoomed out of Harry's hand faster than the speed of light, and Harry winced. The photograph landed in Hermione's outstretched hand, and when she looked down at it, she closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she opened them, she found Harry examining his hand with a frown, and Ron jumping up and down trying to get a better look at the picture in Hermione's hand.

"You cut me, Hermione," Harry accused, showing her his palm. A thin line of blood was visible.

Hermione shook her head, and walked over to him. "The pains of love," she muttered sarcastically.

"What's that?" Harry asked, not hearing her. He held out his hand to her, and she murmured a few words sliding her wand above the wound. Within seconds, the wound disappeared.

Ron had followed her to Harry's bed and was now trying to climb onto it. "Why are these things so bloody high off the floor?" he grumbled.

"Well, Grumpy—"Harry said cheerily, earning a growl from Ron, who was pulling the sheets down in order to get up, "—it has taken you roughly seven years at this school to realize that the legs on the bed are too long. You should've noticed it before, and then perhaps they could have done something about it."

Ron tugged at another sheet, lifting his leg up trying to get onto the bed. "It sucks being this short. Now I know how you feel Harry," he said to the side of the bed.

Harry sighed. "There's nothing you can say that will anger me, Ron. I'm a happy man," he said, smiling.

Hermione glared at him. "This is _not_ good, Harry! I'm not going to allow it!"

"Allow what?" came Ron's voice from the floor. He had given up and was now just sitting, leaning against the leg of the bed.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Hermione said, and bent down to pick him up. She plopped him on the bed, next to Harry. She sat down on the other side of Harry.

"Allow what?" Ron repeated.

"This," Hermione said ominously, handing him the photograph. Harry didn't make a move to grab it. He just stared it while it was being passed over him to Ron.

Once it was in Ron's hands, however... "ROMILDA _VANE_?!" Ron screeched, his voice breaking.

Hermione nodded solemnly.

Harry sighed.

"Are you out of your bloody _mind_, Harry?!" Ron yelled, his voice still high. "This is _Romilda Vane!"_

"I know," Harry said with a goofy expression on his face.

Ron was shaking his head furiously – Hermione was afraid it was going to fall off. "No. No. _No._ Harry, this is bloody insane!" Ron turned to look at Hermione. "The bloke's barking mad."

Hermione shook her head. "No, Ronald. He's not mad. He's under a spell." The words were for Harry's benefit, but he didn't seem to have heard them. He had taken the photograph from Ron's midget hands, and was now staring at it again.

"Harry, you're under a spell," Hermione said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Harry turned to look at her, and copied her action by placing _his_ hand on _her_ shoulder. "Hermione," he said slowly, as if he was talking to a five year old, "I'm not going to fall for that again."

Hermione shook her head, knowing exactly what he thought she was thinking. "Harry, Romilda hasn't given you a love potion or anything this time. It's more –"

"You also see it, don't you?" Harry asked.

Hermione blinked. "See what, Harry?"

"That this is the start of _love,_ Hermione," he said, heaving another deep sigh. He was now stroking the edges of the photograph.

Ron had a disgusted look on his face. "Are you _sure_ there isn't a love potion involved?" he asked Hermione, disgust loaded into his voice.

Hermione nodded. Ron opened his mouth to ask something else, but Hermione said, "No, Ronald, not even the Imperius."

Ron's shoulders slumped. "This cannot be happening," he murmured. He stood up on the bed – so that he could now look into Harry's and Hermione's eyes without looking up – and started shaking Harry's shoulders. "What. Is. Wrong. With. You?!"

Before Ron had undergone the transformation, he was pretty strong. So even though he was dwarf-sized now, he still maintained some of his strength. His vicious shakings of Harry's shoulders seemed to alert Harry. Harry's glasses shook and threatened to fall off. Harry shook Ron's hands off. "Stop it!" he cried out, adjusting his glasses.

"_You _stop it!" Ron said, trying to look menacing despite his dwarfness.

"_Both_ of you stop it!" Hermione said, getting up and facing them. "Harry, you're not under a spell _but_ we're all sort of enchanted. It's rather complicated to explain. But please get it through your head that you're not destined to be with Romilda! It's all part of a cruel design of fate that this is happening—"

"You're right. This _is_ fate," Harry said, staring up at her.

Hermione felt incredibly frustrated. She didn't know what else to do. So she did the only thing she could think of.

She slapped him.

"OW!" Harry yelled, holding his hand against his face. "What was that for?"

"To bring you back to your senses!" Hermione said with her hands on her waist. She felt absolutely awful for slapping one of her best friends, but it had to be done.

"Now why didn't I think of that?" Ron asked himself.

Hermione ignored him. "Harry, please. This is not you talking."

Harry grinned. "Then who _is_ talking, Hermione?" he asked cheekily.

"Would you like me to slap you again?" she asked sweetly. She really didn't want to. But what she said shut him up completely. She sighed. "I think I'm going to have to explain it to you. There's no other way," she said resignedly. She looked over to Ron who was curled up on Harry's pillow, falling off to sleep. "This is for you to, Ronald," she said, waking him up with a Tickling Charm.

Ron got up suddenly, bent over, laughing hysterically. "St-stop!" he yelled in between giggles. Hermione laughed, and released the spell. She sobered up when she realized the task at hand. She conjured a chair and sat across them.

"Okay," she said, looking at their focused faces. "This is the story." The joys of double meaning.

They opened their mouths at all the wrong parts, and interrupted when Hermione was getting to all the good parts. She felt incredibly annoyed. So this is why Malfoy had gotten so irritated with her that night! She tried ignoring all their questions, but being boys, they became quite insistent.

After about thirty minutes, her story was finally done, with many interjections on the boys' parts. Yet they sat with gobsmacked expressions upon their faces. "It explains so much," Harry murmured.

"I know, mate," Ron said, staring at his dwarf-sized body. He looked up at Hermione. "Do you think we'll be able to reverse it all?"

Hermione licked her lips, and rubbed her palms on her jeans. "Malfoy and I are working on something—"

"Hold on," Ron interrupted. "_Malfoy_ and you?"

Hermione glared at him. "Yes, _Malfoy _and I. He was the one who discovered what was happening, you know."

Harry and Ron exchanged a look with each other. Hermione, noticing, asked, "What?"

Ron grinned. "Well, he's not as stupid as we thought he was, is all. Quite clever, really."

Hermione frowned. "He's not _that_ clever. I also contributed to the theory."

Harry's lips twitched. "Oh, yeah? How so?"

"Well, not so much the _theory¸ _per se. I reckoned that we should come up with a solution—" Hermione stopped herself short. She realized how stupid she had just made herself sound. So what if her two best friends thought Malfoy was clever? They still thought she was the cleverest in their year.

Which she was.

"Anyway," she said, clearing her throat, when she noticed another grin being shared by Ron and Harry, "Harry, I think you should try to stay away from Romilda."

Harry sighed again, but this time it was one of acceptance not happiness. He stared at the photograph for a moment, and then throwing it up in the air, he pointed his wand at it, and muttered something under his breath. The picture began to slowly tear itself into shreds as it fell to the floor. Hermione stared.

"How did you do that?" Hermione asked him inquisitively.

"Do what?" Harry asked.

"Cause that photograph to tear itself up?" Hermione asked, still shocked.

Harry fidgeted with his wand. "Er, I made the spell up."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "You what?"

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I like playing around with...words, and...yeah, so I make up spells spare time."

Ron rolled his eyes. "You should've seen him when he first discovered this spell. Everything in this room was in shreds. Had to buy new stuff. Regular old Snape, he is," he said, but not unkindly.

Harry smiled a small smile.

"What do you mean you had to buy 'new stuff'? Couldn't you put a Repair Charm on it?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

Ron laughed. "That's the beauty of the spell! You can't undo it. So old _reparo_ doesn't work." He clapped Harry on the shoulder.

"But that's... not many spells are non-reparable," Hermione stated. She was extremely impressed. "This is amazing, Harry! Well done!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "He made up a spell, Hermione, not defeated an evil person."

"Yes, but he's done that, too," Hermione said, smiling.

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Can we get back to the subject please? Romilda?"

Ron closed his eyes. "Just tell her to shove off if she comes near you, mate," he said.

Hermione threw Ron an impatient look. "They're going to be around each other a lot, Ronald. The things that happened in the fairytale cannot be prevented," she said, repeating Malfoy's words.

"I'm going to _marry_ her?" Harry yelped, standing up.

"I don't think it would be that extreme. It seems to affect the adults more severely than the teenagers, but we'll see. Point is," she said, before Harry could say anything else, "you _will_ be around her more than anything. You won't be able to help it...so, just be cautious," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He leaned into her side. "I'm going to die, Hermione," he said, his voice muffled.

Hermione sighed. "Not in this version of the story. The King dies in other versions, but not in this one. The only person dying in this...is me," she tried to end off on a happy note.

"_WHAT?_" they both exclaimed. Harry leaned back to look at her, and Ron cracked both small eyes open.

Hermione smiled. "The end of the story, remember? Snow White is killed by the poisoned apple. In fact, it's the step-mother who poisons her. So, I wonder what Romilda is going to do to me," she said, curiosity colouring her voice.

"Shut it, Hermione, this isn't funny," Ron said seriously.

"I know. Besides, Malfoy and I are going to come up with something," she said. _Hopefully_, she added to herself.

"You better," Ron threatened.

Hermione laughed, and she turned to go. She remembered something, and turned back to face them. "Harry, how did your Auror test go?"

Harry smiled. "Great, actually. I might actually stand a chance."

Ron rolled his eyes. "You're freaking _Harry Potter_. They'd be stupid not to take you in," Ron said, slapping Harry on the shoulder.

"That's really good, Harrt," Hermione intoned, smiling warmly at him. "Another thing," she said.

"What?"

"What about Ginny?" she asked, reverting to their former topic.

"Well, I don't know what career path she plans on taking. I think she's probably going to explore Magical Sport, or something," Hary said, staring at a spot on the ceiling.

"No, I meant...what about Ginny and you?"

Harry brought his head down to look at her. "How do you mean?" Harry looked puzzled.

Hermione paused. "Well, aren't you two...Haven't you started feeling anything for her again?"

Harry buried his head in his hands. "I don't know, Hermione. It's so very complicated."

"How can you not know whether you like her or not?" Ron asked, a frown pulling his mouth down. "Isn't it obvious?"

Harry straightened and looked at Ron. "When you get to where I am, you'll understand," he said maturely.

"Which is where? Getting off with the queen from hell that's going to poison our best friend?" Ron said gruffly.

"As opposed to the possibility of remaining the size of a dwarf for your whole life?" Hermione countered, defending Harry. She could understand the truth in Harry's words about his life being complicated. She couldn't _empathize_ but she could sympathize.

"Oh, that's just _low_," Ron said irritably, crossing his arms over his chest.

* * *

It was the day after her arrival, and Hermione felt so at home in the castle. She threw all of her energy into finding a solution. She was determined to not let her mother's death be in ill parting on her father's part. Her mother's death could not lead to such a tragic twirl of events. It just couldn't.

And the possibility of ending up with Malfoy someday seemed pretty unrealistic. They were so opposite in personalities! Like fire and ice. She was the fire, of course.

After their episode of magical transference in his room at her house the previous night, things were quite...awkward between them. Well, she didn't know about Malfoy but she certainly felt awkward. Hermione wasn't too sure why, but, despite his soothing scent, she had felt really uncomfortable with being in his presence ever since the previous day.

She reached the portrait to the Head Common Room. "_Fides quod fidelitas_," she said, and the portrait door swung open. She stepped inside, and got the shock of her life. The sight of Malfoy tuning a guitar was unusual and set her heart racing. She was that shocked.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she asked, walking cautiously towards him. he was sitting on one of the couches, with his feet propped up on the centre table. Bloody hell, he had long legs.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he asked softly, not looking up.

She sat down on the couch across him. "Well, I didn't know that you knew how to _play_ it," she said, her voice filled with awe.

He half-smiled. "I haven't played for a long time. It's been too long since I last played, actually."

Hermione stared at his fingers fidgeting with the knobs on the guitar. "When was the last time you played it?"

"I've never played _this_ before," he said, holding up the guitar. "I bought it this morning from Hogsmeade."

"When was the last time you played?" she repeated.

He looked up at her, and seemed to deliberate about something. Finally deciding, he said, "The day before my parents were arrested."

Hermioen tried to control the emotion on her face. She didn't want to show her shock. This was the first time he had brought up his parents in casual conversation. She didn't know exactly how to respond without sounding too full of pity.

"But why did you have to buy a new guitar?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"You ask a lot of questions, you know that?" His silver eyes burned into hers.

She crossed her arms. "And you don't answer many questions, you know that?" she shot back.

"Touché," he said, dipping his head. He fiddled with the knob, and then plucked the strings testing it.

Hermione could sense that he didn't want to answer any of her questions, which she was perfectly fine with. She could live with that.

"Can I touch it?" she asked tentatively. He could say no.

He looked up again. "The guitar?" he clarified.

She nodded.

"Why?" Draco asked, holding out his guitar to her. The guitar cost a fortune, but he didn't think that she was capable of breaking it.

"I've always wanted one," Granger breathed, her brown eyes sparkling as she took the guitar.

"Really?" Draco asked, leaning back into the couch. He watched her eagerly run her hands over the surface of the guitar.

She nodded.

"Then why didn't you get one?"

Her fingers paused on one of the strings. "Because I went for piano lessons instead."

Draco nodded. "Ah," he said simply.

After a while, she said, "I can't imagine you ever going for music classes."

Draco felt his eyes widen. "My parents sent me to almost every class imaginable when I was a child," he said quietly. Longing for his parents gripped his body but he forced it away.

"Really?" she asked. It was her turn to be surprised.

"Yes, but I only ended up dropping most of them," he muttered, looking down at his hands.

"Just to do with music, or other classes too?" she asked, leaning back into the sofa, the guitar on her lap.

Draco stared at the guitar. "Mainly music and dancing, actually."

Granger nodded.

"Ballet?" she asked.

He looked up at her, and nodded slowly.

"Seriously?" she asked. Draco clenched his teeth. She didn't have to make her amusement so obvious.

"Yes."

"Tap?"

"Yes."

"Modern?"

"Yes."

"Latin-American?"

Draco closed his eyes. "Yes."

"Piano?"

"Yes."

"Violin?"

"Yes."

"Wow," she whispered.

"I know," he said. He cracked an eye open. "Are you done with examining it?" he asked, pointing at the guitar.

"Oh, yes! Thank you," she replied, handing it over to him. He took it back, and retuned it. "So which ones did you drop?"

"Everything except guitar and singing lessons and Latin-American dancing," he replied. "Granger, are you done with your little interview now? I'd like to have a bit of me-time."

"You always have 'me-time'," Granger said sharply.

Draco looked up. "Are you complaining?" he couldn't help asking, not noticing the small grin that lifted up the corners of his mouth.

"No," she said, rolling her eyes. "Like I pointed out earlier, this is a _common_ room, not a _bed_room. So I'm not leaving."

Draco shook his head. "I wasn't asking you to leave. I was asking you to be quiet."

She gasped. "How _dare_ you tell me what not to do!"

He sighed. "Granger, seriously, shut it."

She shut her mouth with a snap, and glared at him.

He ignored her, and began strumming gently. It felt different, like seeing the world through a different shade of sunglasses. At first, it didn't feel right, or in place. So he picked up the tune, and let his mind go. From past experience, he learnt that his music is best when he let his mind go. He looked over at Granger for a second. She was lying on the couch, with her head tilted in his direction. Her hands were tucked underneath her head.

She looked so peaceful.

And then he began to _see_. The music always had that affect on him. Whenever he played, he would be able to see and think clearly. And now he was seeing. He didn't want to stare too long, but he couldn't help it. He didn't care if he was making her uncomfortable. He was just thinking, and coming up with more theories.

Wasn't he supposed to be letting go of everything that was pulling him down under the surface? His lifejacket was the fairytale.

He continued to stare at her, and she back. The girl had changed him, that was for sure. She had brought back a part of the old Draco. She had started to melt his exterior, whether it was intentional or not, she had done it. She seemed to know how he operated, how he thought, and by now he could easily predict what emotions she would go through if he had to say something.

He would never want to be with her romantically. That would be absolutely bizarre. But, she was one of the few people who actually tolerated him, and for that he was really grateful. She actually took time to scold him when she felt like, to jerk him into place. Whether it was what she did with everybody or not, he still appreciated it.

She had taken many sad things away from him, letting him focus on things that mattered.

His piece ended, on a bittersweet note. He stood up and walked over to her. This time he didn't hold his breath. He forced himself to let go of that awkwardness. He would be strong. He would _try_ to be compassionate.

But for now, he'd focus on strength. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she jerked in surprise. She stared up at him. "Malfoy, what --?"

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "For what?"

He knelt down beside her, and she propped her head up on her hand to look at him clearly.

He stared out the window. "Just, for everything. It's really hit me now, when you've been helping me out for, what, a couple of months..." he trailed off, thinking of what to say next. He was terrible at discussing emotions.

Her voice came from his right, "Malfoy, I haven't helped you with anything."

He rolled his head around to look at her. He stared into her brown orbs. "Granger, you really have. And coming from me, that's a lot to admit. I don't want to be too specific, but just know that you have helped."

Draco thought that that was all the emotion he could cope with. He squeezed her shoulder gently, emphasizing his gratitude, and stood up.

"You're welcome, Malfoy," she said softly.

He nodded once at her, but he tried to make the movement not too abrupt or cold. She smiled hesitantly, and sat up. She held out her hand and asked, "Friends?"

Draco looked down at her offer of friendship. He took a step forwards, this was what he needed. This was what he wanted. He held out his hand and shook hers. "Yeah," he said simply. She knew what he meant. She smiled and he let go. Slowly.

"You're not playing anymore?" was her question

Draco looked down at the guitar on the couch. He picked it up and began sliding it into its case. "No...Why, was the music any good?" he asked.

She shrugged, trying to look casual, probably. "Yes, it was alright."

He levelled a look with her.

She sighed. "Fine. It was really good."

Draco smiled. "Now that wasn't so hard," he said, zipping the case shut.

She rolled her eyes.

He started to walk towards his bedroom. But then a thought stopped him. shouldn't he say goodnight or something? Wasn't that what friends did? He nodded to himself. "Goodnight," he called over his shoulder as he walked passed her.

"'Night," came the reply.

Draco opened his door, and closed it behind him. he placed his guitar case on his table, and collapsed on his bed. He stared at the ceiling. It had felt really easy talking to Granger like that. Was talking to everybody like that? Draco had never connected with anybody on a spiritual or intellectual level, except with his parents.

That's what Granger reminded him of. The time he used to spend with his parents. He ached for that kind of connection again. He really did. And McGonagall's letter was right: Draco and Granger really _should_ have a connection, given the fact that he's supposed to bring her to life with a kiss.

-------------------------------------------------------to be continued---------------------------------------------------------

_**A/**_**N: Just thought I'd add another chapter for you guys! Sooner than you were expecting, I know. But you're not complaining, right?**

**Love you all! Xx. I'm gonna go sleep now **


	16. Mirror Mirror

**-------**-----------------------------------------------MIRROR MIRROR---------------------------------------------------------

Hermione, testing Malfoy's theory (although she knew it was right) decided to try something. She picked up a piece of paper, and flicked it at Ginny who was a good few seats down the bench on the other side of the table. Hermione – despite being pretty pathetic at sport – had quite a good aim. The paper swiped Ginny's cheek, and Ginny spun her head around searching for the culprit. She had an annoyed look in her eyes, but when she spotted Hermione, and made the connection, she grinned. She waved 'hello', and Hermione smiled and beckoned her closer.

Ginny whispered something to her friend and then slid across the bench she was on until she was directly across Hermione. "Hermione," she smiled.

"Hey, Gin," she said. She slid a plate of crumpets over to her. "Want some?"

Ginny took a few and piled them onto her plate. She squirted golden syrup sauce onto them and bit into them. "Mm, these are really good," she said after she had swallowed a mouthful.

"I know," Hermione said, smiling. She didn't actually know. She didn't really eat crumpets. "Listen, Gin..."

"You need to tell me something?" Ginny guessed, her eyes sparkling.

Hermione's eyes widened, and she faltered for a second. "How did you know?"

Ginny laughed. "No reason, Hermione – It was kind of obvious. You look really surprised though ... did I guess right?"

"Sort of. It's more of a question, actually..." Hermione started.

Ginny bit into another crumpet. She swallowed. "Just spit it out, Hermione. I've got McGonagall first period and she hates latecomers," she said not unkindly.

Hermione looked around her to make sure that there was nobody else within earshot. She leaned in, and said in a rush, "Do you happen to know a Gladys Winter?" Hermione held her breath, waiting for the answer.

Ginny's eyebrows furrowed. "Gladys who?" she asked.

Hermione drew back. "I guess that's a no, then." She folded her hands over each other on the table.

"_Should_ I know her?" Ginny asked, her crumpet completely forgotten.

"If his theory is correct, then you should get to know her soon," Hermione murmured, more to herself than to Ginny.

"_Whose_ theory?" Ginny asked, now completely baffled. "Look, Hermione, you're not making much sense right now."

Hermione sighed, but forced her mouth to stretch into a smile. "Sorry, Gin. I guess I'm not. But look...Oh, never mind; it's unavoidable. I cannot even prevent you from talking to her."

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "You. Are. Not. Making. Any. Damn. Sense!"

"Never mind!" Hermione said, noticing that people around her were getting up. First period was about to start. "What do you have first period?" she asked, trying to change the topic.

Ginny pushed away her plate. She looked at Hermione strangely. "I already told you. McGonagall, remember?"

"Oh, right! Of course I remember," Hermione said, laughing.

"Uh huh," Ginny said. "Hermione are you sure you're feeling alri—"

"Ginny, we're going now! Are you coming?"

Ginny turned around to see who was talking to her. A group of three girls stood there: Padma and Parvati Patil and ... Romilda Vane. Romilda nodded at Hermione, and Hermione smiled back awkwardly. "You people carry on," Ginny said. "I'll be right behind you."

They nodded and hurried off.

Hermione waited for them to leave the Hall before saying, "Romilda _Vane?"_

Ginny shrugged. "I realized that she's not much competition, you know? Harry...he'll come around," she said, and sighed wistfully.

"But I thought you hated her!" Hermione said in a whisper.

"I do hate her," Ginny said. "But she became all sympathetic for Padma and Parvati after their mum died last year, so she's been hanging out with them ever since. And since they're pretty much my friends, too..."

"But you have Neville and Luna, Ginny," Hermione pointed out.

Ginny grimaced. "Exactly. Have you not noticed how _close_ the two of them have become recently? It makes me bloody uncomfortable when I'm with them...Now, the twins and Romilda ... it's unlikely they'll get into a threesome, so I'm safe," Ginny finished off cheerfully.

Hermione was still focused on the first part of what Ginny said. "Neville and _Luna_?" she asked incredulously.

Ginny shook her head, but grinned. "Absolutely."

"Wow," Hermione said, still shocked.

"Yeah, it's pretty much of a 'wow' factor," Ginny commented. She turned around to look at Neville. Hermione followed her gaze and almost said 'wow' again. Neville and Luna were wrapped up in quite an intense discussion, and were leaning incredibly close toward each other.

Hermione shook her head, trying to clear it. "Ginny, I think that we should go. First period starts in a few minutes."

Ginny nodded, and got up from her seat, swinging her bag over her shoulder. Hermione imitated her, and the two walked out of the hall together.

"So, is it awkward between you and Romilda?" Hermione asked.

Ginny shrugged. "I don't really notice much, to be honest. I focus more on Padma and Parvati, actually. Romilda is more of an ... accessory."

Hermione laughed. They parted ways after that, and Hermione headed for the dungeons.

The class was filed outside Slughorn's classroom; Hermione joined the end of the line right behind Malfoy. He was casually leaning against the wall, looking at a group of girls. They looked back at him, and then broke out into a fit of giggles. Hermione rolled her eyes. Honestly. People needed to learn the concept of maturity.

"Malfoy," she said, interrupting him.

"Yes?" he asked, not looking at her.

"_Malfoy_," she said.

He sighed, and acting as if it was a huge effort, he rolled his head around to face her. "_Yes?_" he asked, matching her tone of voice.

"I need to talk to you about something," she said.

"Then talk," he said, his silver eyes staring at her. He looked thoroughly bored.

Hermione was extremely reluctant to admit the next bit, "I'm confused about something," she mumbled.

"Sorry, what? I didn't catch that," he said, stepping closer to her to listen properly.

She stared defiantly into his eyes. "I said I'm confused."

His lips threatened to lift into a grin, but Hermione's flashing eyes stopped him. "About what?" he asked.

"This fairytale thing," she said.

"Would you get to the point, Granger," he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"There are double roles," she stated.

He contemplated what she said. He placed a hand on the wall next to him. "And by double roles, you mean Potter and your father, and Winter and Vane?" he asked.

"Yes," Hermione said, nodding.

Slughorn arrived then, interrupting their conversation. He ushered the class in, and Hermione took a seat next to Malfoy. He raised his eyebrows.

Hermione folded her arms defensively. "I'm still talking to you, aren't I?" she asked. She glanced over to the other side of the classroom where Harry and Ron were staring at her with shocked expressions. She mouthed an _I'll tell you later _and they nodded, though a bit hesitantly. She turned to face Malfoy, and then frowned. "Does anybody else sit next to you?" she asked, pointing at the seat she was about to occupy.

Malfoy shook his head. "I told you that I like working by myself."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Right, as we were saying ..." she trailed off, thinking. "What were we saying?"

Malfoy smiled, and he said, "Let me just go get the ingredients for this lesson."

"Thank you," Hermione said, thinking he was going to get hers as well.

Draco tilted his head. "Er...would you like me to get yours as well?" he asked, sounding completely unsure.

Hermione's mouth dropped open, but she closed it quickly. "Sorry! I just assumed...It's okay, I'll get mine." She got up from her seat, but before she could even start walking, Malfoy stopped her.

"No matter. I'll get them." He jumped up from his seat and rushed to the cupboard.

Draco selected all the necessary ingredients – in double quantities. He had no idea that he was supposed to fetch hers as well! But really, that _was_ the gentlemanly thing to do, wasn't it? Not that he really considered himself a gentleman, per se. But if this was how friendship properly worked, then so be it. The only friendship he had been used to was the one where he led everything. In this friendship, everything seemed so very equal and divided. Granger was a force of her own.

He made his way back to their table. Thankfully, their table was right at the very back of the classroom; away from everybody else. When he arrived at their table, he noticed that she had placed both their textbooks out on the table, open to the right page. She was already making additional notes on the page of her textbook. Draco glanced at his textbook. Had she taken it out of his bag by use of her hand or by use of her wand? Because there was a huge difference. If she'd taken it out using her hand, she would've seen everything in his bag. What had he kept in his bag?

"I Summoned it, Malfoy. In case you were wondering."

The girl could read his thoughts! "No, I wasn't wondering, Granger," he replied smoothly, sitting down. Then he stood up again, realizing that he needed to stand in order to make a potion.

"As we were saying," she began.

"What were we saying?" he asked, dicing up his ingredients.

"About the double roles," she said. "I was wondering how they would be played out."

This time Draco didn't follow. "How do you mean?"

"Well, both of them can't be the King, right? And both of them can't be the evil, step-mother, right?" Granger asked, cutting up her roots as well.

"Maybe you're over-thinking it, Granger," Draco murmured, measuring a spoonful of Bulbadox juice.

"If your theory is correct, Malfoy—"

"—which we've already proven it is," Draco said, dropping the Bulbadox into the cauldron.

"If your theory is correct, then surely someone should want to poison me?"

Draco grimaced. She didn't even sound as if she cared whether she got poisoned or not. "Someone _does_ want to poison you, Granger," he said quietly, squirting Horklump juice into the potion.

"My point is though, _which_ someone?"

Draco lowered the bottle, and looked at her. "You're confused whether it's going to be Winter or Vane?"

"Yes!" she said, dropping a handful of beetle's eyes into her potion.

Draco's lips twitched. He returned to his potion, still thinking. "I honestly do not know, Granger," he said quietly, stirring his potion. He wished he could give her an answer. He felt good when he knew the answers to the questions she asked. "Maybe," he said, "it will be Winter because she's more..." he stopped. He couldn't find the right word.

"Evil?" Granger suggested.

"Perhaps," Draco acknowledged. "I just don't think that Vane has it in her to poison you."

"You don't even know her though," Granger said.

Draco glanced down at his textbook, reading his next instructions. "I know people, Granger," he murmured.

"So do I, but I don't think I can characterize someone just by looking at them," she said, adding crushed rose thorns to her potion.

"Pity. I can," Draco said, smirking. He really could. He could read people very easily.

"Lucky you," she muttered sarcastically. "But that doesn't help us with the matter at hand, Malfoy."

"I beg to differ," Draco said, adding in the crushed rose thorns. "I believe I just told you that Vane isn't capable of poisoning you. Winter is."

"Don't be too quick to assume," Granger warned him.

Draco shrugged, and stirred his potion.

They stirred quietly, the silence comfortable. He felt her gaze on him. "So you don't think I should be wary of Vane?"

"I don't know, Granger," Draco replied honestly. "You need to think about it yourself, as well. What if she does end up poisoning you? Merlin, what if they _both_ end up poisoning you?" He snapped his mouth shut, and shot a quick look at her, realizing that he probably shouldn't have said the last part.

"Could that happen?" she whispered.

He opened his mouth, and then closed it, not too sure whether to lie or not. Not. "They both have the same role, right? So it's possible."

Granger groaned. She didn't cry, but she _groaned._ "Malfoy, we have to work this out before then."

Draco didn't say anything. He agreed with her completely. And it wasn't just because of the poisoning aspect of the fairytale.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the 6th year class, Charms...

Ginny suddenly felt a jolt in her body. Well, it felt like a jolt because her thoughts suddenly changed. She turned in her chair to face Romilda. Romilda was holding up a compact mirror, tilting her head this way and that. "Ginny, I am indeed exquisitely beautiful, you know that?"

Ginny wanted to raise her eyebrows. In fact, she tried to raise them, but found that she couldn't. Something inside her told her to agree with whatever Romilda said, because whatever Romilda said was right. "You are indeed, Romilda," she replied softly.

Romilda glanced at Ginny once, and frowned. "You know, it doesn't sound _right_ coming from you, Ginny. I mean, I know you mean it, but a girl like me needs constant assurance, you know?"

Actually, Ginny had no idea what Romilda was talking about. She dearly wanted to disagree with Romilda. Who in the bloody hell needed to have constant assurance that they were beautiful? Did Romilda feel that insecure? Ginny felt like asking her all these questions, but her mouth refused to open. Instead, she kept silent.

Romilda puckered her lips, seeing how effective her pout was. "Aren't I the most beautiful girl in the entire school?" she murmured.

Ginny felt incredibly repulsed. She knew that Romilda was vain, but she had never known that she was _this_ vain.

Romilda tapped her wand against the table. "I think I'm going to charm this mirror, Ginny," she said tranquilly.

Ginny realized that she couldn't act on her true emotions. She had no idea why, but she just couldn't. She gave into the voice inside her head who was guiding her. "What will you make it do, Romilda?" she asked, following the voice.

"It's going to constantly assure me of my beauty," she replied.

Ginny looked around the classroom to see if anybody else was witnessing the same thing she was. Everyone was concentrated on transforming the object in front of them into a book that could read aloud. Unfortunately, Ginny was paired with Romilda and their object was the mirror.

_She's very much in-character,_ thought Ginny, thinking of the evil, step-mother from the fairytale. _Maybe this is all deliberate_. Ginny decided to play along. "That's such a good idea, my Queen," she said teasingly. She was surprised that the words could come out so easily.

Romilda shot her a look. "Why did you call me that?" she asked sharply.

Ginny's eyes widened. "No reason," she said softly. Romilda was being serious!

Romilda waved her wand murmuring something under her breath.

A flash of red.

And then nothing.

Ginny blinked. Was something spectacular supposed to happen?

"It worked," Romilda said softly, angling her mirror this way and that.

How did she even know? Though the voice in her head told Ginny to ask it differently, "Would you like to test it, Romilda?"

"Mirror, mirror, who's the most beautiful in Hogwarts?" Romilda whispered excitedly.

Ginny gasped when she heard the reply from the unblemished surface of the mirror, "Lady Romilda, you are the most beautiful."

Professor McGonagall lifted her head up, trying to pinpoint where the voice had come from. When she saw Miss Vane with the mirror, and the mirror talking back to her, Professor McGonagall knew. That Malfoy boy was right.

* * *

It was four days later when The Incident happened. She was in the Great Hall, eating supper with Ron and Harry when she saw the whole scene unfold before her eyes. She smelt her first. It was a sweet smell. Too sweet. Hermione turned around, and sure enough, Romilda was there. She hadn't come for Hermione though. Her focus was upon someone else.

"Harry," Romilda said softly, her voice low.

_She's trying to woo him_, Hermione thought worriedly. Draco had told her that everything in the book had to happen. Hermione's heart clenched as she watched Harry's freedom get slowly snatched away.

Harry looked up at Romilda. He saw the look in her eyes, and then he looked at Hermione, alarm clouding his features. Hermione nodded her head subtly. Harry stood up, and clearly against his will, smiled. "Hi Romilda. How are you?"

She batted her eyes. "_Always_ good," she said. "Would you like to come for a walk with me, Harry?"

She trailed her fingers down Harry's arm, and Hermione sympathized with him. He was clearly suffering. He shot her a quick look. _Go_, she mouthed. Harry shook his head subtly. Romilda didn't even notice.

Hermione sighed. Even if Harry didn't want to go, he'd go anyway. After a second, his resolve slipped, and he said, "Sure."

He closed his eyes. Hermione felt immense pity for him. How hard this must be!

Romilda smiled brightly, and slipped her hand into his. Then the two of them left the Great Hall. Hermione looked until they were completely out of sight. Just as she was turning around, she caught Malfoy's eyes. They exchanged a look of seriousness. She nodded, and he nodded. Yes, his theory was _definitely_ correct.

Hermione turned back around. "What are we going to do?" she whispered to Ron.

"You're going to have to come up with something, I suppose," he said, and reached forward to grab a drumstick. He couldn't reach it, so he asked Hermione, "Can you get that please?"

"How _could_ you?"

Hermione whipped her head around.

Ginny.

An angry Ginny.

"I'm guessing you saw that?" Hermione said.

"The whole _thing_," Ginny spat.

Ginny sat down angrily next to Hermione. "How _could_ you, Hermione?"

"I had to, Ginny," Hermione said sadly.

Ginny laughed without humour. "What, you had to give him away to _Romilda Vane_?"

"I didn't give him away," Hermione said, rubbing her eyes. She was really tired. "Look, Gin, it's all a complicated story, and I—"

"You knew that I loved him," Ginny carried on in a fierce whisper. "Yet you still let him get off with that bitch!"

"Ginny, you're not letting me explain—"

"Save it, Hermione. I don't want to know." She got up and left. Hermione blinked. How had it all come back to her? How?

* * *

Ginny paced the grounds outside angrily. How _dare_ Hermione do that to her? She saw Hermione urging Harry on. Who knows? Perhaps if Hermione hadn't said anything, Harry mightn't have gone off with Romilda Vane, and now they were who-knew-where doing who-knew-what.

Ginny was indeed bloody angry.

She spotted a figure heading back to the castle, and in the dark she couldn't really make the figure out. From the way the person walked, to his structure and hair, it _looked_ like Harry ... which meant that the she-devil was somewhere near.

Ginny spun around, eager to have it out with Romilda.

Yet when she came into view, Ginny felt that same jolt in her body, and she found herself bowing her head. She heard Romilda approach. "Ah, Ginny," Romilda said.

Ginny lifted her head. She wanted so badly to say something mean, something cruel – something that would cause Romilda to feel double the pain that Ginny had gone through because of her. But of course, she couldn't say anything. The voice in her head was quiet, so Ginny too stayed quiet.

"Isn't it absolutely fantastic that Harry and I are a couple now?"

Ginny wanted to scream. She obeyed the voice in her head, "Yes."

"Life is so good," Romilda commented, taking out her mirror. Ginny observed her. ""Mirror, mirror, who's the most beautiful in Hogwarts?"

The mirror remained silent, and Romilda opened her mouth to repeat the question when it spoke, "Hermione Granger is the most beautiful."

Romilda let out a short laugh. She shook the mirror. "Perhaps this thing isn't working properly." She cleared her throat, and said in a louder voice, ""Mirror, mirror, who's the most beautiful in Hogwarts?"

"Hermione Granger is the most beautiful."

Romilda screamed. An actual scream. "This cannot be! My spell must have worn off!"

"But, Romilda, the mirror still speaks," Ginny commented, noting that the voice allowed her to say this.

"Argh!" Romilda yelled, throwing the mirror onto the grass. She turned to face Ginny, her eyes ablaze with fire. "You hate Granger, don't you?"

The voice told her to say yes. Ginny fought it. "N-yes."

"Don't be so confused, Ginny," Romilda spat. "Of course you hate her, for doing that to Harry. Aren't you in love with Harry?"

The voice was quiet. Ginny didn't say anything. Romilda was making it very difficult for her to tolerate. But she couldn't say anything.

"Get her expelled, Ginny. Get her far away from my sight."

"_What?"_ Ginny asked, shocked.

Romilda regarded her, the fury still in her eyes. "If she's expelled, she'll be gone from the school, and I'll once again be the most beautiful at Hogwarts.

"Romilda, this is a very ridicu-brilliant plan," Ginny found herself saying. She couldn't even formulate the sentence properly. What was Romilda thinking?! What was driving her to say all of this?

All in the name of beauty.

"You're going to do it, Ginny," Romilda ordered.

Ginny inwardly refused. She couldn't do that to Hermione. As much as she was angry with Hermione, she still loved her. But there was some mysterious power over her that forced her to say, "Date. Place. Time."

* * *

_**A/**_**N: Okay, so personally, I'm not a fan of this chapter, but I feel that it's completely necessary for the actually story. So I'm sorry if you guys didn't like it **** but thanks for all your reviews **


	17. Confidante

----------------------------------------------------------CONFIDANTE----------------------------------------------------------

Romilda smiled wickedly. "Tonight, Ginny."

Ginny blinked. "_Tonight? _But...but that doesn't give me enough time to—"

Romilda's eyes flashed. "To what?"

Ginny bowed her head. "Nothing, Romilda."

Romilda smiled again. "Good. And I want proof that she's expelled, you hear me? I want that girl out of this school. Go, now. I want to be alone."

Ginny took a few steps back, nodding. Once she was far enough away from her, she turned and ran. She ran at her fastest speed, and by the time she got to the castle's doors, she bent over, clutching her side, panting heavily. Even though the stitch in her side was giving her much discomfort, she felt relieved. She felt free. She looked back to where Romilda was, but couldn't see anything. It was too dark.

What had she agreed to do? _Why_ had she agreed to do it? Romilda had some unfortunate hold over Ginny, and she couldn't figure out why. She wished she could go back and have it out with that witch, but she knew that it would be futile. The "voice" would probably take control over her.

Ginny leaned against the cool wall, gathering her thoughts. She thought that getting Hermione expelled for a trivial thing was pathetic, and frankly, not worth pursuing. But Romilda wanted proof. Ginny had no idea what Romilda was capable of. She had changed completely, and it scared a small part of Ginny that Romilda could have that much power.

Ginny racked her brain. What could she do? Should she tell Harry? She became cold at the thought of Harry, so she brushed it away. Maybe she should tell Hermione? But Hermione was probably angry with Ginny due to the way she had been treated. Ginny couldn't tell the twins either; they wouldn't believe her. An image of a red-faced git popped into her mind, and she brushed that away with a small roll of her eyes. No, Ron would be utterly useless if she told him.

So who did that leave?

Neville? Luna? No, they were in a world of their own.

Ginny sighed. With one last choice left, she hurried down the many corridors as fast as her stitch would allow her to, and came to a sudden halt in front of the gargoyle. "I need to speak to Professor McGonagall," she wheezed.

The gargoyle remained motionless.

"_Please!_" Ginny pleaded. "It's urgent!"

It still remained motionless.

Ginny drew out her wand, a snarl on her face. "Stupid, bloody gargoyle," she muttered. She pointed her wand at the gargoyle. "_Bombar—"_

"Weasley!" came a short bark that was accompanied by hurried footsteps.

Ginny whirled around, clutching her wand in front of her defensively. As soon as she saw who it was, she lowered it. She turned back to the gargoyle. "I thought you were someone else," she said.

The person came to a stop beside her, looking at her with blatant surprise. "Were you about to curse that gargoyle?"

Ginny frowned impatiently. "It doesn't want to let me in, Malfoy. What did you expect me to do?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Your spell wouldn't have worked, by the way," he said coolly.

Ginny felt her nostrils flare. She prodded him in his chest – whatever part wasn't covered by his arms. "This is urgent, Malfoy," she stressed. "I need to see Professor McGonagall."

"How urgent is urgent, Weasley?" Malfoy asked, smirking.

"Stop it! Or I _swear_ I'll curse your you-know-what off," Ginny threatened, her eyes narrowing.

Malfoy had the cheek to roll his eyes. "What do you need to see her for?"

"Hermione is in trouble, you idiot!" Ginny practically yelled. She found his offhand manner incredibly annoying.

Suddenly his expression changed. He looked almost – _almost_ – concerned. "What kind of trouble?" he asked more seriously. He looked at Ginny intently waiting for an answer.

Ginny shifted. She wasn't too sure whether Malfoy should know about Romilda or not. She couldn't see him believing her. He would probably laugh at her. She looked at him. "Look, she's just in trouble. I need to see McGonagall _now_. So if you can help me, Malfoy..."

Malfoy regarded her for a few seconds, deliberating. He seemed to make up his mind. He nodded, and walked forward towards the gargoyle, straight passed Ginny. He leaned forward, tapping the gargoyle's ear with his wand. He whispered something that Ginny couldn't hear. A few moments later, the gargoyle sprung to life, and stood aside, revealing a spiral staircase behind him. Ginny's eyes widened.

Malfoy turned back to face her. "Only the Heads and your Potter are privy to the passwords, Weasley. Sorry."

Ginny shook off the "your Potter" comment, and asked, "Why would Harry know the passwords?"

Malfoy shook his head to himself, his lips twitching. "Beats me," he said quietly. He led the way up the stairs, and just as Ginny stepped onto the first step, the gargoyle slid back into place. Ginny glanced behind her, and then back up, following Malfoy. "Why are _you_ coming?"

Malfoy glanced over his shoulder at her. "No need to sound so welcome, Weasley," he said quietly, half-smiling.

Ginny pursed her lips. "I'm just saying, is all. It's not necessary for you to be here."

----

Draco muttered, "It is necessary."

"What's that?" Weasley asked from behind him.

"Nothing," Draco replied. He came to the top of the staircase and carried on moving down a straight, short corridor.

He heard her steps behind him, so he didn't turn around to check if she was following. Not long after, they came to a stop outside a great, polished door. "Here we are," he announced, glancing at her.

"I know that," she snapped, and reached passed him to knock lightly on the door.

Draco felt like laughing. Her temper was almost as amusing as Granger's.

"What are you smirking at?" she snapped at him again.

Draco shook his head silently, and carried on looking ahead. The door opened, and McGonagall appeared before them. She looked shocked. "Mr Malfoy, Miss Weasley, it's incredibly late."

Weasley stepped forward. "Professor, this could not be postponed until the morning," she said, a note of urgency in her voice.

Draco glanced at her.

"What is it, Miss Weasley?"

"Romilda Vane is attempting to overthrow Hermione ... kind of," she said quietly.

Draco narrowed his eyes. He didn't realize that he was gripping his wand rather tightly.

McGonagall opened her door wider. "What?" she asked. She glanced quickly at Draco, and Draco read more in her eyes. "Please come in," McGonagall said, and Weasley and he followed her into her office. Draco automatically glanced at Snape's portrait, and nodded at him.

"Draco," Snape said in acknowledgement. Draco half-smiled.

"How are you?" Snape asked.

McGonagall glared impatiently at his portrait. "Severus, could we leave this for another time? We have a pressing matter on our hands at the moment."

Snape shrugged, but Draco nodded again. He hoped that Severus would understand that he was okay. Snape's eyebrows shot up. Draco heaved a silent sigh. Was Snape that surprised? Draco turned away from the portrait, and looked at McGonagall instead.

"Pride," he heard Snape scoff. Draco pretended to ignore him.

"Severus," McGonagall said in a warning voice. She sat in her chair, gesturing for Weasley and him to do the same thing.

They did, and McGonagall folded her one hand over the other. "Miss Weasley, please start at the beginning," she instructed.

Weasley sighed, and Draco turned to face her, also wanting to know what happened. "It actually started in your Transfiguration class today, Professor," she said.

McGonagall closed her eyes, and sighed. "No need to say anymore. I completely understand," she said in a weary voice.

Weasley frowned. "But, Professor, I haven't even told you what happened!"

"I can guess," the professor said. She turned to look at Draco. "Your theory, Malfoy," she said lightly, "seems to be correct."

Draco tilted his headHerm slightly. "I already knew that, Professor," he said. He knew he sounded arrogant, but he really _did_ already know that his theory was correct.

The professor's eyebrows rose slightly. "Well, here's further proof."

Draco leaned forward, and he glanced between the professor and Weasley (who was looking thoroughly confused). "Which is?" he asked.

"Miss Vane has been cast the role of the step-mother—"

"I know that," Draco said, interrupting her before he could stop himself.

Her eyes flashed. "She has been cast the role of step-mother, and seems to be acting just like her character."

So he had been wrong. Vane _was_ capable of being an evil step-mother.

"She transformed her object into a _mirror_, Mr Malfoy," McGonagall continued. "A mirror that would tell her who was the beautiful in the school." She let her sentence hang in the air, and Draco absorbed it too quickly.

He inhaled a deep breath.

"You _heard_ that?" Weasley asked incredulously.

"I hear everything that happens in my classroom, Miss Weasley," McGonagall assured her.

Draco shifted in his chair. Had Granger been near Vane at all today? He racked his brain. He needed to keep Granger as far away as possible from Vane. If she got too close... Draco fidgeted with his hands. He didn't know why he cared so much, but he knew he couldn't let the two people come into contact with each other. Perhaps it was because Granger was his friend. Yes, that was it. This was a quality of friendship. How strange.

"We need to keep Granger as far away from Romilda Vane as possible, Professor," he said.

"Hang on," Weasley said, interrupting them. "You mean, everybody who received roles for the musical, acts like their character?"

Draco looked at the professor, and then back at Weasley. "Pretty much," he replied quietly.

Weasley slumped in her chair. "That explains so much," she whispered.

Draco nodded. Of course it would. He had derived the theory, after all.

"Back to the matter at hand," McGonagall said. "Why is Miss Granger in trouble?"

"You know how in the book the step-mother wants the hunter to kill Snow White so that nobody else can be more beautiful than her?" Ginny asked.

The professor nodded, and Draco gripped the sides of his chair. He had a funny feeling where this was going.

"Well, it turns out that when Romilda asked her mirror for the second time, it replied that Hermione was the most beautiful in the school – not her."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. _Granger?_ Then again, it was based on a fairytale after all...

"And then?" the professor asked.

"And then – I'm the hunter, you see, - so then she asked me to get Hermione expelled," Ginny said quietly.

Draco let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. So Weasley hadn't been ordered to _kill_ Granger. It's just expulsion.

"Expelled," McGonagall repeated. "Miss Weasley, do you have little faith in this school?"

Weasley looked shocked. "No, Professor, why would you say that?"

"It sounds as if you think Miss Vane would be able to bypass the school's management, and get Miss Granger expelled for no reason at all."

Weasley's eyes widened. "Not at all, Professor. It's just that she seems quite dangerous..."

McGonagall glanced at Draco. "What do you think we should do, Mr Malfoy?"

"I think that we shouldn't take any chances, Professor," Draco replied honestly.

"You think she should get expelled?" Weasley asked incredulously.

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco said disapprovingly. "Vane is potentially dangerous, so I think Granger should just go to classes with the Invisibility Cloak that Potter has. That way she won't see her and therefore can't harm her."

"How do you know Harry has an Invisibility Cloak?" Weasley asked, shocked.

"That's all very well, Mr Malfoy, but there's a flaw in your plan," McGonagall said, ignoring Weasley.

Draco felt puzzled. He thought of what possible flaws there could be in his plan, and then after a while, he said, "Oh."

"Precisely," McGonagall said.

"Where's the flaw?" Weasley asked.

Draco let McGonagall do the talking. "If she's still in the castle, Miss Vane would know if she ever had to ask that mirror of hers. Even if Miss Granger were to be invisible, it wouldn't help her position."

"Oh," Weasley said in the same tone Draco had.

"Mr Malfoy, don't you think this is taking it too far?"

Draco felt like slapping her. "She has the character of the woman who ends up killing Snow White!"

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Very well. We can place Miss Granger in Hagrid's. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"Sorry, but did you say _Hagrid_'s?" Draco asked, hoping he had heard incorrectly.

McGonagall nodded.

Draco's eyebrows furrowed. "But there's not enough room in his cabin for her to sleep in!"

"He's half-giant, Malfoy," Weasley drawled.

"But still. Where will she do her homework? Study for exams? Eat? She's used to the Common Room," Draco argued.

"A simple Expanding Charm on Hagrid's cabin could help, Mr Malfoy. And besides, this is a temporary measure. It should only be for a day or so."

"I don't know..." Draco said, thinking. He tried to think what would be best for Granger. "It's taken us this long to come up with a solution, and we have nothing."

"I'm in frequent contact with more experienced people than you are, Mr Malfoy. It shouldn't be too great a problem."

Draco was still deliberating.

"It's for her safety, Mr Malfoy," McGonagall reminded him.

"Of course," Draco said. "Fine, then. I'll let her know."

"Very well. Miss Weasley, here's the 'proof'," McGonagall said. She waved her wand, and her quill began to write across a piece of parchment.

"What is it, Professor?" Weasley asked.

"It's a letter announcing Miss Granger's expulsion. Show it to Miss Vane. Hopefully, that will keep her temporarily satisfied, and will delay her issuing the poisoned apple – if there is one."

"Professor, why can you not send Romilda out of the school? It would make this all less-complicated," Weasley asked. Draco agreed with her.

"And say what to her parents, Miss Weasley?" McGonagall asked.

Weasley remained silent. When the letter was finished, it folded itself up, and settled on top of Ginny's head. She reached up to get it, and tucked it into her robes.

"If that's all, Miss Weasley and Mr Malfoy, I'll make arrangements with Hagrid now," McGonagall said. "Thank Merlin it's Friday – we have the weekend to sort this out."

"Thank you, Professor," Draco said, getting up. Weasley followed his example, and Draco left the room with her behind him.

After closing the door, they walked briskly down the hallway. "So will you tell her?" Weasley asked him.

"Yes," he replied shortly.

They reached the staircase, and Draco descended them. "Malfoy?" Ginny asked from behind him.

"Yes?"

"I was just thinking...at the end of the book—" Draco gritted his teeth, but didn't say anything. He knew what was coming next. "—Prince Charming marries Snow White."

"Glad to know you can read, Weasley," he said, trying to cover up the emotions her statement brought to the surface.

"I was just wondering how that was going to happen in this realm," she said.

He chose not to respond. He tapped his wand on the gargoyle, and it slid to the side. He hurried out, and he heard her following him. "Malfoy, I said something."

"And what you said is not our primary focus right now," he said. "Look, I'm going to go tell Granger now."

And with that, he rushed off, leaving Ginny staring at him, shocked. Bloody hell, it was just a statement for crying out loud!

---

"Granger!" Draco called out in a rush as he ran into the Common Room. She had been sitting on the floor, bending over the coffee table, scribbling on a piece of parchment. She jumped slightly, and her quill skidded across the parchment accidentally.

"Malfoy!" she complained, looking up only briefly.

"It's not as if you can't undo it," he said impatiently. She was looking all over for her wand, lifting up her books. "Let me," said Draco. He waved his wand, and the ink cleared up.

"Thanks," she muttered. She blew the few shiny black strands that kept falling into her face away, only to find that they settled back into place, irritating her eyes.

"Granger, you need to leave," Draco said quietly, walking towards her.

She looked up at him, and then looked back at her work. "Want me out so soon?" she asked, smiling.

"Granger, I'm being serious," Draco said. He sat down a few spaces from her. He glanced at her parchment. Almost all the space that could be used was filled with her words. He found that he was leaning in to look at her words, so he pulled back.

She hadn't replied. "Granger."

"Hm?" she asked, sounding as if she wasn't really listening.

Draco grew irritated. He directed his wand at her parchment, and in the next second her parchment had crumbled to ash. Thankfully, he got the reaction he wanted.

She whipped her head around to face him, her eyes blazing. "_Malfoy_! What the bloody hell did you do to my essay!"

Malfoy closed his eyes for a few seconds. Granger would be very good at acting. She could get fairly...expressive. She didn't sound too high-pitched either. It wasn't annoying at all when she screamed. It really was amusing. The way she sounded so irritated over such a small issue...

_Thwack._

"Hey!" he said, his eyes flying open. "What did you hit me for?"

"Because you crumbled my essay! To ash!" she screeched.

"Well, your hit didn't hurt," he said, a small smile lighting up his face.

She narrowed her eyes.

"But at least I got your attention," he said softly. Her brown eyes were flashing angrily, but he knew her anger would fade soon. Her red lips were in a straight line. "Romilda Vane is after your blood, Granger," he said in the same tone.

"We already know that," she snapped, glaring at him.

"Granger, I'll undo the spell on your essay just now. If you could just focus on what I'm saying..." Draco said. She was still glaring at him. "Please?" he asked softly, staring intently into her eyes. Her eyes seemed to haze over. She blinked.

"Just tell me, already," she said, but her tone had come down a few levels in volume.

He shifted his position on the floor, facing her. "Granger, earlier today in little Weasley's Transfigurations class..." and then he told her the rest of the she-Weasley's day. Granger opened her mouth at some parts – not to interrupt, but of surprise.

When he had finished, she said in a small voice, "It's almost exactly like the book. Except, here, Ginny's been ordered to get me expelled; not get me killed."

"Exactly," Malfoy said gently. He felt extreme pity for Granger. He knew she would kill _him_ if she knew that he pitied her. But, all this trouble was directed primarily at her. "You're going to spend the weekend at Hagrid's," he said.

"What?" she asked, clearly startled. "Did you say _Hagrid_'s?"

Draco's lips twitched. "That's what I said. But clearly, McGonagall thinks it's best for you to stay with him."

"But...there's not enough room in his cabin," Granger said quietly.

Draco looked at her, half-smiling. "I said that as well. McGonagall's arranging an Expanding Charm on his cabin."

She nodded slowly. And then she jerked her head. "Wait, did you say McGonagall?"

"Have you gone back to being deaf?" he asked her teasingly.

She rolled her eyes. "No, it only just registered. Does that mean she knows?"

"She was the first person I told my theory to," Draco replied. He leaned his head against the couch seat and looked at her.

Her eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?" he asked softly.

She bit her lip. "I'm surprised because you actually talked to someone about something as personal as a thought," she murmured.

Draco merely looked at her. How much did she actually know about him? It was eerie how she could pinpoint his traits so perfectly.

He tried to scoff. "No need to sound surprised, Granger. I am perfectly capable of confiding in others."

She let out a small laugh. "Right, I completely believe you." She leaned back into the sofa and closed her eyes.

Draco felt as if, by closing her eyes, she was severing the connection between them. He inched closer to her, being careful to keep a safe distance from her.

"I'll prove it to you," he said, his voice really low. She opened her eyes quickly, and Draco watched as they widened at his closeness. He couldn't speak in normal volumes. The situation didn't call for that.

"How?" she asked softly, gazing up at him.

Draco racked his brain. "When I was two, I got my first broomstick –it was a toy one, mind you – and I accidentally broke it. My father was incredibly angry that it was broken, so I blamed it on the house elf, Dobby."

Her soft eyes turned hard as she glared at him. "That's not exactly confiding, Malfoy," her voice a hard whisper.

He grinned. "I know. The atmosphere isn't right for secret-telling," he said. He drew out his wand, and flicked it. All the lights went out, and when he looked around him, he could hardly see a thing.

"What was that for?" came her voice somewhere from his right.

Draco paused. He wasn't too sure how much of the truth he should tell her. What did friends do? "When confiding in someone," he murmured, "you sort of bare your emotions to them. It's ... difficult enough for me to do that. And when someone can read your face as well as your words... it scares me a little. So the only side I'm...willing to expose is my words." His words hung in the air before them, and it was up to her to either grab them and understand them, or leave them hanging there.

"I see," she said simply.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, glad that she didn't ask him to explain why he had felt that way.

"How much time do we have?" she asked.

"About twenty minutes, before McGonagall calls you," he sighed.

A few comfortably silent moments passed between them, and then, "Why are you suddenly nicer?"

This question startled Draco. He had no idea how to answer it without giving too much away. "Next," he said quietly. He closed his eyes, leaning back against the couch, folding his arms across his chest.

"Next?"

"Yes, next."

"Why don't you want to ... never mind. Uh, let me think," she said.

Draco thought of a tune, and he began to hum it softly, tapping his foot gently against the carpet.

"Why did you want to become friends with me?" she asked, finally arriving at another question.

Her question halted the tune, so that it was caught in his throat. How to answer that one? "Next," he decided.

He heard her hand connecting with the carpet. "Malfoy, there's no point to this."

His heart skipped a beat. Why would she say that? "What do you mean?"

"You're not even confiding! You don't have to...but it proves my point of you not liking to confide in others."

Draco felt as if she was challenging him. "What was your first question again?" he asked.

She sighed. "You don't have to do this, Malfoy."

"Your first question. What was it?" he persisted.

"Why are you suddenly nicer?" she asked, though her voice was still covered with mild reluctance.

Draco didn't have to think twice about the answer. He was just wondering how she would interpret it. "Because of you," he said simply. He wished he could see her reaction. Would her eyes widen as they usually did when she was shocked? Would she bite her lower lip as she usually did when she self-conscious or nervous?

"I can't make any light of that," she said after a minute.

"That's not a question," he said softly, his eyes closing.

"Could you elaborate?"

Draco chose his words carefully. "You saw me for who I was – who I had been. And you managed to bring most of the 'old me' to the surface ... I miss certain parts of my old life, and you remind me of a certain person that has been left behind in my past... You just...you helped me to become emotionally stable again." In effect, he was really saying thank you.

"You're...welcome," she said, as if reading his mind. "Who do I remind you of?"

Draco thought of the pale blonde hair neatly wrapped up into a bun. "My mother..." he said softly, remembering.

She didn't reply, and Draco realized how strange it must have sounded. "I know it's rather uncomfortable being told that you remind somebody of his mother, but it's just... the fact that you _care_ whether I live or die speaks volumes. And you and my mother are on par with most things, I think," he said. He wondered how his parents were doing. Were they warm enough? Did they have the energy to confide in each other like this?

"I don't mind, actually," she said quietly. "If I remind you of her, then it's almost a semblance of home, right?"

Draco smiled softly. "Right," he murmured.

He couldn't see a thing, but he could imagine her smiling right now. He focused on that image to control his thoughts. "Your next question."

"Why are we friends?" she asked, more interest inflicted into her voice.

Easy. "Because you keep me sane," he replied.

"Oh," she said. "That's good, I guess."

After a while of no speaking, he said, "Do you see what I mean about baring naked emotions?"

"Yes," Granger said quietly.

"I have a question of my own," Draco said.

"Ask," she said, a smile lightening her voice.

"Why do you care?" This question genuinely disturbed him. why did she have to give him so much of her time? Why waste it on him?

"Would you rather I not?"

_No, I wouldn't_. "That doesn't answer the question," he replied.

She let out a long sigh. "Honestly, I have no idea. I just feel the ... need to ... 'care', as you put it."

He raised his eyebrows. "What would you call it, if not 'care'?" he asked.

She hesitated. "Well, Malfoy, I would call it..." she trailed off, and Draco wondered how hard she was thinking.

"Yes?"

"I would call it..."

"You just said that," he pointed out.

"I don't know what I'd call it. Maybe you're right," she said. Was that realization in her voice? Or just surprised that he happened to know her as well as she knew him?

"Aren't I always?" he asked, trying to break the tension.

She laughed quietly, and they both fell into silence.

"How much time do I have left?" she asked after a few minutes.

"I can't exactly see my watch, but I suppose about five to ten minutes."

He reached for his wand and waved it. The lights came back, and they both had to blink a few times to adjust to the sudden light. After their eyes had adjusted, they immediately glanced at each other. Draco held back a gasp. He was practically next to Granger, not even a few spaces apart. He was so close, he could count every eyelash. He blinked, and he heard her gulp. He cocked his head in response. Perhaps he had some kind of effect on her. She licked her lips.

He felt something build up between them; something that closely resembled the time when they had combined their magic. It felt powerful, and Draco found it difficult to look away from her eyes.

Was this friendship? Was this what it felt like?

Maybe when you became really good friends with someone, it felt like this. Maybe after sharing important information with someone, it felt like this. As if everything was exposed, as if you had nothing left to hide, as if you wanted to know more about the other person. It felt free, as if magical energy had just been shared.

How could friendship be defined?

A rap at the door brought them both to attention, and Draco quickly glanced at his watch. "Oh. Turns out you don't even have five minutes. That's probably McGonagall at the door right now. You should pack ... I'll bring the rest of your stuff down tomorrow."

Granger nodded and jumped up, and immediately Draco felt imbalanced. His head ached, but he also got up, and headed to open the portrait door.

---------------------------------------------------------to be continued-------------------------------------------------------

_**A/**_**N: Sorry about long delay! Promise I'll be updating more frequently now. The school term's almost over, so no more tests **

**A big than you to all my reviewers **** I love you all, and your reviews really make my day! If you have time, please drop by a review **


	18. The Forbidden Forest

-------------------------------------------------THE FORBIDDEN FOREST----------------------------------------------------

"Good evening, Mr Malfoy," Professor McGonagall intoned, after he had opened the door for her. She stepped in, and glanced around the Common Room. Draco closed the door behind him. "I trust that you've told her?" she asked him.

"Yes, she should be here any second now," Draco replied, glancing towards Granger's bedroom door. His body felt tight with exhaustion and wariness. He doubted himself, his feelings, and his relationship with Granger. It didn't feel normal, the incident that had just occurred between them. He reflected silently, as he observed the Professor taking a seat at their tiny breakfast table. If he had given Pansy a chance at a proper friendship, would this have occurred between them?

These days, when Draco had been a regular attendee for Quidditch practice, he and Blaise had become reasonably good friends, to a point where Blaise knew exactly when to stop pushing Draco. Yet, Draco and Blaise did not experience the kind of intensity Draco's body had zinged with just a few moments before due to Granger.

McGonagall had picked up a book that had been sitting on the table. _Hogwarts: A History_. She was leafing through it slowly, lingering on certain pages longer than others. Draco looked away, and stared at Granger's closed door.

What was happening to him? He understood that he was slowly returning to his former self, but the process was hard. On the way to 'recovery' was he supposed to go through self-realization? Was he supposed to become more aware of the things around him? Was he supposed to become more aware of the _people_ around him, specifically one particular person?

Perhaps this was just the fairytale's effects taking place. Draco felt his headache grow as he focused on this particular concept. He didn't want to bring it to Granger's attention, in case he scared her (though scaring her seemed virtually impossible) but he wondered why it was that the fairytale hadn't affected him yet. Not physically, but emotionally. In the book, Prince Charming fell in love at first sight with Snow White. But, in reality...

Draco had never been in love before. Not even with Astoria. So how would he know what it felt like? He was sick of the clichés that books adorned. He was interested in what the real thing felt like. He had _never_ been around people who were in love; he had never met anybody who was in love. So how could true love exist? What the hell was true love? Was it just something that authors used to sell books?

Then, if this was the case, maybe that's why he hadn't felt anything remotely associated with love for Granger. The author of that _Snow White_ book used the concept of love to sell the book.

How could he believe in love when he didn't even know how to recognize it?

So would everything in the fairytale occur in reality except the falling in love part? He held the bridge of his nose with two fingers as he thought. From what the books proclaimed, love couldn't be forced unto a person. So really, this love couldn't be forced on him and Granger.

Could it?

Merlin, how was he supposed to know! What could he do to prevent it from happening, if it did happen?

He closed his eyes, thinking of his options. He could ignore her, he supposed. Perhaps that will stop her from talking to him ... if she didn't talk to him, what of her could he love? He sighed. In the book, Prince Charming fell in love with a dead Snow White. Snow White couldn't even talk, yet he fell in love with her. Hence, verbal communication wasn't needed to fall in love.

Option one ruled out.

They could continue to be friends. He quite enjoyed having someone to talk to, even fight with, as long as it was on amicable terms. But what if he found something to love her for? Merlin, what if _she_ found something to love _him_ for? The latter was definitely more probable. He could not deal with someone being in love with him. That was too ... uncomfortable for him to handle.

Option two ruled out.

He could move in for the kill. Figuratively speaking, of course. He could just race in and see what happened. All of this was restricted to the story, right? So he could do whatever he wanted, and could easily blame it on the fairytale. She would understand. It had been ages since he'd last had proper fun with a girl. He wouldn't get emotionally attached, of course. That would be horrendous. And, besides, she didn't seem to mind his subtle flirtatious ways ... it would be easy.

But it would also be morally wrong. He couldn't do that to the person who had pulled him out from under the water. It would be despicable to treat her like that. His mother had taught him a thing or two, after all.

Option three ruled out.

He sighed. Where did this leave him?

He was about to walk over to the couch to sit. Granger was taking awfully long. But just as he moved his leg, her door opened, and he felt himself relax. She stepped out of her room with her huge trunk behind her. Draco stared at the trunk. What on earth could be in there?

"Professor!" she exclaimed, running forward, dragging the trunk behind her. "Sorry I'm so late," she said, panting slightly.

McGonagall closed the book, and stood up. "It's quite alright, Miss Granger," she said. She looked down at the trunk, and her eyes widened slightly. "Miss Granger, I thought Mr Malfoy explained to you what the plan was?"

Granger's eyes narrowed in confusion. She glanced quickly at Draco, and Draco shrugged. He had no idea what McGonagall was insinuating.

"He did, Professor," she said.

"Then why is it that you packed a whole trunk for just two days?" McGonagall asked, a frown pulling the corner of her mouth down.

Granger looked relieved. "I've just packed my books and homework and other necessary items, Professor," she said calmly.

Draco rolled his eyes. Just how many books had she packed?

McGonagall didn't react. "Very well," she said. "Let's go."

Granger hurried to the professor's side. She looked back at Draco who was staring intently at her, still thinking. She hesitantly lifted up a hand as a farewell gesture. At first, Draco didn't respond, and her small smile faltered. He cleared his thoughts and offered a smile.

She smiled back and turned to follow McGonagall out of the room.

A strange feeling settled over Draco, but then it passed as quickly as it had come. _Funny_, he thought, _I almost followed her_.

* * *

She could feel Professor McGonagall's gaze on her as she rushed down to Hagrid's hut. Hermione had magically levitated her trunk so that it followed her. The thing was too heavy for her to carry. She came to an abrupt stop outside Hagrid's cabin, and knocked twice on the door. She heard Fang barking. "Stop barkin', yeh stupid dog!" came Hagrid's booming voice from inside.

In the next moment, the door was pulled open, and Hermione looked up to see Hagrid's kind face. "So sorry to do this to you, Hagrid," she said, smiling.

"Wha'? Don' be ridiculous, Hermione! Yeh're welcome anytime!" Hagrid said loudly, pulling her in for a hug.

Hermione tried to return the hug, but her arms wouldn't fit properly around him. Additionally, Hagrid was suffocating her. "Hagrid!" she gasped. "Can't breathe!"

He released her immediately, and Hermione stumbled backwards. "Sorry abou' that," he said. "I jus' haven' seen yeh in ages, Hermione!"

Hermione smiled. "Sorry, Hagrid. I've been really busy with schoolwork...Do you mind if I come in?"

Hagrid retreated from his doorway, and said, "Sure, sure. Come on in."

Hermione went in, directing her trunk with her wand behind her. "Where is my...where am I going to be?" she asked, unsure. She looked around the one-room cabin. It still looked the same.

"Oh, yeah!" Hagrid exclaimed. He moved passed her, and threw open the backdoor. Hermione peered out the door, and was startled to see another small room, fully equipped with human necessities. She directed her trunk to land in the corner of the room, and turned around to face Hagrid. He was bending down, peering into the room. "Not too bad, eh?" he asked.

"Thank you so much!" Hermione exclaimed, and she hugged him again. Before Hagrid could get too much into the hug, she stepped away. She walked into the small room, and peered around curiously. There was another door, and she opened it to reveal a tiny bathroom. "This is all so...nice, Hagrid," she said warmly. She sat on the bed looking up at him.

"Professor McGonagall fixed it up for yeh," he said.

An idea occurred to Hermione. "Maybe we should call Harry and Ron down, too," she said thoughtfully, smiling.

Hagrid sighed. "Yeh jus' missed them, I'm afraid," he said.

Hermione frowned. "What? They were here?"

"Yeah, they pop by whenever they feel like it," he said. He straightened up, almost hitting his head on the door frame. "Aw well, I have to be goin' now."

Hermione looked at him curiously. "Where are you going?"

"Jus' inter the Forbidden Forest fer a while," he said.

Hermione stood up, grabbing her wand from the pedestal. "I'm coming," she said.

"No no, yeh'll be fine, righ' here," he said, frowning.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Hagrid, I've been into the Forbidden Forest many times before."

Hagrid looked as if he was thinking. Finally, he sighed. "Fine, but Fang's comin'."

Hermione beamed and followed him out of the hut. Fang hurried ahead of them, sniffing the ground as he went. His tail wagged enthusiastically, and Hermione stared enviously. She wished she had that kind of energy. "Are you looking for anything specific?" she asked Hagrid.

Hagrid looked down at her. "Nah, not really. Jus' summat fer my fifth-years."

"Anything specific?" Hermione really wanted to help him. She felt bad for intruding.

Hagrid stroked his beard. "I'm goin' ter search fer some thestrals; bring 'em somewhere nearby – fer easier access, y'know?"

Hermione merely nodded. She didn't really like the thestrals. The last time she had come into contact with them was when _she_ was a fifth-year. Then, she hadn't been able to see them. But since then, she had witnessed too many deaths, so she would definitely be able to see thestrals now. Seeing them would only confirm the fact that she had seen many die.

"Hagrid," she began hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"Do you mind if I go my own way? Just wander around a bit?"

Hagrid looked down at her. "Hermione, the fores' can be a very dangerous place," he said, clearly worried.

"Hagrid, I'll be fine. I've got my wand," she smiled reassuringly. Besides, she wanted to have some time by herself.

Hagrid stopped walking, and he stared into the darkness of the forest, unsure.

"Please?" Hermione asked.

He sighed again. "Fine, but if yeh have any problems, send some red sparks up inter the sky, alrigh'?"

Hermione smiled. "Thank you, Hagrid," she said.

"Yeah, yeah," he said gruffly. "Jus' don' tell Professor McGonagall."

Hermione hurried ahead of him, and entered the cool embrace of the Forbidden Forest. She had forgotten how eerie it looked at night, but she ignored the trickles of fear, and walked in bravely. She vaguely heard Hagrid in the distance, pushing the branches of trees aside, but after a few minutes, the sound of his and Fang's footsteps died, and Hermione was alone. She looked up at the small circle of sky that she could see. Stars littered the black sky, and a cool breeze gently pressed lightly against her. Hermione closed her eyes, as she welcomed it. When she opened her eyes, she began walking again, looking around her for small signs of life.

It all looked stunningly beautiful yet terrifying at the same time. She heard a crack, as if a stick had just been snapped.

She froze, and slowly turned around. Where had that sound come from? She had done a full three-hundred-and-sixty degree turn, but she hadn't seen anything. She resumed walking, this time shooting glances over her shoulder, alert.

She heard the sound again, and she stopped. "Who's there?" she called, raising her wand.

No response.

No response except for the sound of another stick cracking.

Hermione licked her lips, clutching her wand. "Hello?" she asked. Her voice stayed strong, yet she was beginning to feel thoroughly scared.

"A human?" a raspy voice asked.

Hermione whipped her head around, and she came face-to-face with a centaur. His coat was a pearly white, and his face gleamed in the moonlight. She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank Merlin! I thought it was something much scarier," she said.

Something flickered in the centaur's ice-blue eyes, and he stepped forward. "You look familiar," he said.

Hermione tilted her head. This centaur was emanating negative vibes. She took a step backwards. "You might have seen me with another woman? Dolores Umbridge? From the Ministry?"

The centaur drew in a breath. "You're associated with her?" he asked in a low, scary voice.

"Not at all!" Hermione exclaimed. "We all hated her, in fact."

"So did we," the centaur said, and as he spoke a few other centaurs stepped out of the shadows. Hermione glanced around. She was out-numbered. "Why are you invading our territory, human?"

Hermione's eyes bulged. She gulped. "I – I didn't mean to. Look, I'll go, if you want," she said, her heart racing frantically. The thought of sending up red sparks occurred to her, but she didn't act on the thought. What if the centaurs attacked her?

The one who had spoken first stepped forward again. "That's exactly what we want," he whispered.

Hermione nodded. She glanced around her. Which way was the way out? Everywhere around her looked the same. She didn't dare ask the centaurs for their help. "Sorry for the disturbance," she said, and hastily retreated. They regarded her coolly. Only once she was far enough away from them, did she turn and run. She didn't know where she was going, but she still ran. She looked over her shoulder; they were still standing there. She swung her head forward and ran faster. After a few minutes, she looked back, and realized that they had long left. She came to an abrupt stop, and looked around her. Where on earth was she? On her adventures with Harry and Ron, they had never come this far into the forest.

After a while of more wandering around the forest, she spotted a clearing. She raced towards it, and if she wasn't in the given situation, she would have laughed. Because what she saw practically emphasized her stupidity. Of course! It was so obvious.

Safety.

Safety, because she knew exactly what was going to happen now.

She smiled, and walked towards the tiny cottage. In context, it was completely out of place lying in the Forbidden Forest, but it looked perfectly in place, where it sat.

Hermione timidly reached the footpath leading to the door, and she slowly made her way down it. She didn't stop to admire the small delicate flowers outlining the path. Instead, she focused on the door in front of her, and quickened her pace. When she reached the door, she looked up. The cottage looked frightening in the little moonlight that graced its walls, almost something out of a Muggle horror movie. But Hermione knew – she was fairly certain – that it was far from scary.

She knocked, yet there was no answer. Yes, that made sense.

She looked around her, making sure that no one – and nothing – was watching her. She took in a deep breath, and pushed the tiny door open. It didn't creak; it didn't even make a sound. She bent so that her head wouldn't hit the top of the doorframe. When she was through, she straightened up. Her head didn't touch the ceiling, yet if she lifted her hand up, it could have touched the ceiling without much effort.

The door shut softly behind her, and the small house was thrust into darkness. "_Lumos_," she whispered, and then there was light.

She held up her wand as she hesitantly made her way through the tiny house. It shouldn't have surprised her to see a small table laid with seven tiny plates, but it did surprise her. She laughed softly. This house was perfect for the seven dwarfs. Absolutely perfect.

Hermione knew what part came next: the reaction to her lethargy from walking about the forest, and then the beds.

She yawned, as if on cue. She walked to the only other door in the cottage, and pushed it. It opened, and she bent to go inside. It was the bedroom, with seven neatly made up beds. Hermione waved her wand, and the beds moved so that they were all right next to each other, with no spaces in between them. They formed one single bed big enough to accommodate Hermione. She moved the pillows about too.

Too tired, she lay down on the beds, and stared up at the ceiling. Who would've thought?

Her thoughts immediately went to Malfoy, and she wondered what he was doing now. Even though it was really late, she was certain that he wasn't asleep yet. She wondered what he was thinking of. Now that she had the time to think properly, she grazed the memory of them in the Common Room. It felt good talking to him like that. Comfortable. Normal. She closed her eyes, her thoughts continuing to swirl around him. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was a pair of silver eyes.

* * *

The seven of them trooped towards their newly acquired cottage. "Our second night of using this!" someone exclaimed. She had a wide, dreamy smile on her face and was skipping merrily down the footpath.

"Quite frankly, Lavender, I'd rather pluck my eyeballs out with a fork," grumbled a boy with flaming red hair. He stomped his way down the footpath right in front of the girl.

"Oh, Ron, you're such a – a – _ACHOO –_grouch," another boy said, holding his nose, sniffing.

"Bless you, Ernie," said another child, patting Ernie on his back. "But really, I don't think Ron can help it."

"Shut _up_,Dean," barked Ron, turning around. "I _can_ help it."

Dean shrunk back from Ron, even though they were practically the same size. "There's no need to be so horribly mean, Ron," Dean said, pouting. "But don't worry, I forgive you."

"Ignore Ron, Dean. This is normal behaviour for him. Typical male behaviour. Especially when they haven't eaten," commented a bespectacled girl.

"Um, Lisa?" asked a timid-looking boy, tapping her lightly on the shoulder.

"Yes, Jimmy?" Lisa asked, turning around.

"I was just...um... wondering, has that theory of yours been proven?" He had his hands clasped tightly behind his back, and was shifting forwards and backwards.

Lisa laughed. She pushed her glasses further up her nose. "In the Muggle world, yes. But of course, you do get exceptions to the theory. I'm glad to see you were listening, Jimmy."

Jimmy blushed. "Um, thank you?" He scratched his ear.

"Quit the chitchat. I really want to sleep now," muttered a girl, trying to stifle a yawn. She rubbed her eyes, stumbling slightly as she walked down the footpath.

"Watch where you're going, Greengrass!" warned Ernie, as the girl almost collided with him.

"Whose bright idea was it to come here, anyway?" Ron complained as they all congregated outside the cottage. He turned to face the group.

"Yours, brightspark," muttered Daphne Greengrass, this time, unable to stifle a yawn.

Ron narrowed his eyes. "Right, well that still doesn't explain why we're coming here at such a late hour. Now, whose idea was _that_?"

Ernie sneezed. "Still yours, mate," he said in a nasal voice.

"I don't remember you getting the character of _'Forgetful_', Ron," Lisa remarked teasingly.

Ron was about to say something, when Lavender cut across him. "Look, everybody," she said, smiling at all of them. "Let's all be grateful that Ron came and told us why we're all stunted in height, and why some of the boys have begun to grow beards." She paused, allowing people to look around them. She laughed softly. "We _won't_ complain, because that'll just make us unhappy and grouchy ... no offense, Ron," she added, patting him on the back. He shrugged, throwing her hand off his shoulder. "We've come here to sort out our problem, since we have no idea how long Hermione or Malfoy will take. Does everybody understand?" she looked around her, taking in each individual's expression. Daphne was slowly dozing off, her eyes fluttering shut.

A few nodded. "Great!" Lavender said, beaming, and she skipped forward again, and pushed the door open. They all followed her, and the only one who carried even an ounce of the enthusiasm Lavender had was Dean.

He looked up at Lavender, tugging on her arm. "I'd just like to say, Lavender, that I fully agree with you."

Lavender patted his head. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean looked at her, surprised. "Did you just _pat_ my head?"

Lavender laughed. "Yes, I did. Sorry about that."

Dean shrugged, smiling. "No problem."

They all filed into the kitchen, sitting at their chairs. Daphne rested her head on her plate, and closed her eyes. Soon, her snores could be heard.

"Oh, bloody hell," commented Ron in disgust when he saw this. "Somebody wake her up, please."

"Let her be," Dean commented. "Who brought the food?" he asked once they had all settled down.

Ron sighed loudly. "I did," he said, dragging his words out. He took out a big bag, and reached inside to get something. His whole arm disappeared, and appeared a second later with a small transparent container full of food. He placed the bag on the table, and said, "Help yourselves."

Lisa rolled her eyes. "Be realistic, Ron. That would be instigating chaos. Allow me," she said, holding up her wand. She flicked it, and six similar containers to Ron's flew out, each depositing itself on a plate. Soon, everybody had a container. They all opened theirs, and dug into their food. All except Daphne, of course.

Jimmy gently shook her. "Um, Daphne," he began. Daphne didn't respond. "Ahem, Daphne, wake up." He gently tugged on her hair, which got her up immediately.

"Don't touch my hair," she complained, her voice laced with sleep and the desire for more.

"But you need to eat," Jimmy said, his eyes wide.

"Screw that," she said, slumping forward. Her head hit the plate with a dull _clunk_ and she started snoring again.

"Ignore her, Jimmy," Lisa said after she swallowed a mouthful of food.

Jimmy sighed, and turned to eat his own food, only sometimes looking out of the corner of his eye to watch Daphne.

"So what's our plan of action?" Ron asked through a mouthful of food.

"That's disgusting, Ron," Dean chided good-naturedly. "It's better if you chew with your mouth _closed_."

Ron threw him a murderous glare.

"_ACHOO!_" sneezed Ernie. Bits of food flew out of his mouth, landing in Daphne's hair.

"Let me rephrase," said Dean in between guffaws. "_That's_ disgusting." They all laughed even harder when Daphne didn't respond.

"Where's Colin's camera when you need it?" asked Lisa after everyone had quietened.

"I think that we should gather more information, Ron," Lavender said, answering his question.

"Wha-? Oh, yeah," he said. "Well, what more information do we need?"

"I dunno," Lavender said, placing her fork on her plate. "Perhaps we should talk to Hermione?"

A few of them nodded. "Mm, that would be a good idea," said Lisa. "One of us can ask her tomorrow. It would be pointless if all of us go. Imagine being bombarded by seven dwarfs," she mused.

Ron rolled his eyes. "But she _knows_ us, Lisa."

"That doesn't change anything. Who will do it?"

Jimmy nervously put his hand up. "I don't mind doing it ... I mean," he looked around the table hesitantly, "...if nobody else wants to."

Lavender smiled. "No, you can do it, Jimmy. Just remember what she says."

Jimmy beamed.

By the time they had all finished their food, they were thoroughly exhausted.

"I'll clear up," volunteered Lavender. She waved her wand, and the left-over food on the plates flew to the bin, and deposited itself in it. With another flick of her wand, she sent the dirty crockery to the sink, and flicked the tap on, so that the plates could wash themselves.

Ron was the first to open the door to their bedroom. "Gah!" he yelled, staring inside.

"What is it?" Dean asked from behind him.

Ron turned to face him. Then he looked at all the other dwarfs. "We should've expected this, actually." He pushed the door further, so that it opened completely.

A few of them gasped. "Hermione!" beamed Lavender.

"But, of course," whispered Lisa to herself.

"What should we – _ACHOO_ – do?" asked Ernie, craning his neck to get a better look of the sleeping girl.

"Let her sleep," Ron said quietly, glaring at Ernie. "But if you carry on sneezing like that, we might have to rule that option out."

Ernie pinched his nose. "I can't help it."

"Try," Ron said, narrowing his eyes. "I suggest we all sleep here. Some of us on couches, some of us on the floor. Let her sleep." He repeated. He glanced over at the kitchen table. "And leave Greengrass there."

They all agreed with Ron, yet Jimmy looked sadly at Daphne's sleeping body.

--------------------------------------------------------to be continued--------------------------------------------------------

_**A/**_**N: **

The 7 Dwarfs:

Grumpy = Ron

Dopey = Dean Thomas

Doc = Lisa Turpin (same year as Harry; in Ravenclaw)

Happy = Lavender Brown

Bashful = Jimmy Peakes (3 years younger than Harry; Gryffindor)

Sneezy = Ernie Macmillan (Hufflepuff)

Sleepy = Daphne Greengrass (same year as Harry; Slytherin)

I don't think Lisa Turpin wears glasses, but for the sake of her character (Doc) I made her wear glasses

**That was a rather light-hearted chapter . Hope you all liked it! It was rather fun to write, actually.**

**Thanks to everybody who has been reviewing! You guys rock my world. **

**Please review ... it'll make me happy ...**


	19. Daphne Greengrass

---------------------------------------------------DAPHNE GREENGRASS-----------------------------------------------------

_It was like a metamorphosis was happening right before her eyes. From a dull grey, to a soft grey, to a brighter grey ... before finally becoming a striking silver. Was it possible for eyes to be that colour? Was that natural? She was staring intensely into these eyes...why did they appear so close to her? Why were they looking at her as if –_

_Tap. Tap._

Hermione shifted in her sleep.

_Tap. Tap._

She rolled over, trying to ignore the persistent prodding. She had been having such a nice dream...If only she could get back to it.

_Tap. Tap._

Irritated, her eyes flew open, and she was determined to kill the idiot who had woke her up, yet her irritation faded as she found herself staring at a _very_ small, bearded version of Jimmy Peakes. "Woah," she said, her voice cracked with sleep. She moved into a sitting position, and immediately felt disorientated. Where was she? Her eyes moved around the room slowly: the seven beds she was sleeping on, the slightly ajar door, the small boy who was staring at her with wide eyes...

And then it clicked. The dream was forgotten.

"Oh!" she gasped, jumping out of the bed, and hitting her head on the ceiling. Life lesson 101: Never stand up on a bed in a house designed for dwarfs. "Oof!" She cried out, rubbing her head gingerly. She looked down at Jimmy Peakes, whose eyes were as wide as saucers.

"Are you okay?" he asked worriedly. He shifted from foot to foot nervously.

She climbed down from the bed, and assured him, "Yes, I'm fine thanks, Jimmy. I just took a little shot to the head." She heard excited whispers from outside, and before she could place the voices, the door was flung open, and Hermione's other dwarf-sized friends hurried into the room, jubilant expressions on their face – even Ron, who had his sour face pulled up into a small smile which looked twisted.

"Is it that hard to be happy, Ron?"

Ron grimaced. "Extremely."

The dwarfs all jumped on her bed, except Jimmy, who looked hesitantly up at Hermione with nervous eyes. Hermione interpreted his expression correctly. She patted the bed, saying, "You can come up, too, Jimmy." He smiled, and jumped up onto the bed.

Soon, Hermione was sitting comfortably on the one bed (her legs spanning the width of the bed), facing the dwarfs who were all looking at her expectantly. She counted them.

Six.

She turned to face Ron, who was the nearest. "Where's the seventh dwa-I mean, person?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "That would be Daphne Greengrass," he said, disgust colouring his voice. "She's –"

"I'm _here_," announced a groggy voice from the doorway. Hermione turned to see who it was. A girl of average height – for a dwarf – was leaning against the doorframe, her eyes half-closed, sipping from a steaming mug.

Ron flashed Daphne a look. "Do you want to come _inside_ the room, Greengrass? Hermione can't keep on turning around just to address you."

"I'm fine standing here, thanks," she said coolly, taking another sip.

Ron gritted his teeth. "I _said_ to get _in_ here, Greengrass. Don't make me—"

"Oh, let her be, Ronald," Hermione said impatiently. A few of the other dwarfs murmured their agreement. Dean was nodding away.

"But...but she can't just _stand_ there trying to act _cool_!" he exclaimed, his face turning a shade of red.

Hermione arched an eyebrow, surprised. "And why not?"

"Because it's rude!" Ron said exasperatedly.

From behind her, Hermione heard Daphne laugh quietly.

"Yes, because you're _such_ a stranger to rudeness, Weasley," Daphne said sarcastically.

"Don't you dare –"

Lavender placed a hand on Ron's shoulder, trying to calm him down. "Ron, please calm down."

Ron merely threw her hand off his shoulder violently, but all she did was heave a sigh. "So, Hermione," she said, smiling. "What do you have to tell us?"

Hermione blinked. "I'm sorry, but was there something you needed to know?"

A girl with glasses spoke. "We know just the basics," she said matter-of-factly. "Ron here was kind enough to enlighten us. But we would appreciate for some elaboration on the subject at hand."

Hermione glanced at Ron. "How much did you tell them?" she asked.

"Not much," the girl with glasses spoke. "When I said 'basic', I meant _basic_."

"Exactly what did he tell you all?" Hermione asked them.

Before Ron could answer, Ernie piped up, "He said that – _ACHOO! ("Bless you!" said Dean)_ – we've all become our characters."

Hermione was still in shock after Ernie's loud sneeze, but she managed to say, "Bless you." She turned to Ron again. "Is that all?"

Ron shrugged. "Pretty much."

Hermione nodded. She turned around to ask Daphne if she wanted to come inside, but the girl had already slumped to the floor and was sleeping peacefully, the mug next to her. She turned to face them again. "Okay then. What do you want to know?"

And then they all started.

"Will we always be like this?"

"Do we have to always live here?"

"How much longer are you going to stay here?"

"How is – _ACHOO_ – Malfoy involved in this?"

"Um ...do we have to shave, or something?"

Hermione held up a hand. "Thank you." They all quietened. She looked at Lavender first. "No, I don't think so. Hopefully Professor McGonagall will come up with a solution soon. In fact, I think she's working on it now." Lavender nodded, smiling. She examined her nails while Hermione turned to Lisa Turpin. "I don't think it would be for long. But ... if I may ask, why are you all living here in the first place?"

"It was my idea," Ron said in a monotone.

Hermione said, "But that still doesn't explain anything."

Ron sighed, and he fiddled with his thumbs. "I thought it was appropriate," he mumbled in a low voice, hoping that only Hermione would hear. But, apparently, it wasn't low enough because the others cried out in indignation.

"You said that this place strengthened our magical powers!"

Ron blushed, and Hermione smiled. "I lied," he muttered to the duvet.

"Then why _are_ we here?" asked the bespectacled girl.

"Lisa, think of it this way," Ron said hurriedly. "We're all dwarfs, right?" They all nodded. "So, don't you think that we need a place to have meetings in order to figure out what's happening? And also, that meeting place needs to be a place where we can actually _see_ the table and chairs." He finished off in a rush, waiting to see their reactions.

"I suppose that makes sense," shrugged Dean from the back.

"But why the middle of the Forbidden Forest?" asked Lisa.

"It's a long story," Ron said, sighing.

"We have time," said Lisa.

"We don't actually," Hermione said, smiling. "But continue, Ronald."

Ron glared at her. "Hagrid, Harry and I were walking through the forest, and we caught sight of this place. Never seen it before," Ron said, shrugging, "but it was here, so I thought it would be fun, almost. And as I said, appropriate, because we're, y'know, the seven dwarfs."

Dean looked at him. "That's not a long story."

Ron glared at him. "Shut up."

Hermione held up her hands. "Okay, so now that we've established _that_, I believe, Dean, you wanted to know how long I'm going to be here for."

Dean nodded.

Hermione looked around the room. "I'm actually supposed to be staying with Hagrid – that's also a long story, a _proper_ long story – but I ended up getting lost. That's when I found this place. So, I don't know exactly how to get back to Hagrid's. I'm only supposed to be staying at his for two days."

Dean leaned forward. "What's the long story? And we all know how to get back to the castle – but I don't think any of us would mind you staying here." He looked around at the others for clarification.

They all nodded, their faces aglow with warmth, and Hermione murmured, "Thanks."

"So what's the long story?" Dean asked.

Hermione leaned back against the headboard. She sighed, and then began, "It all relates to what Ronald said. We all have become the characters we play, even though we might not be like them at all. You all know the wicked step-mother, right?" They nodded silently, and the silence was interrupted by Daphne's snores. "Well her part is played by Romilda Vane. From what I've gathered, Romilda is now after my blood. She wants me expelled."

Some gasped, even though they were expecting something shocking. "But...why?" Jimmy asked in a timid voice.

Hermione smiled at him. "She has a mirror that does the exact same thing as the wicked step-mother's mirror. So, earlier today, Ginny Weasley witnessed the mirror relaying that I ..." Hermione blushed. When it came to her looks, she could be very self-conscious. "Well, you know how in the book the mirror says that Snow White is the most beautiful?"

They nodded again, and understanding flickered on some of their faces. Jimmy still looked lost. "Well, that's what happened to Romilda's mirror. And seeing that I'm Snow White ..." She cleared her throat, feeling incredibly awkward. "Needless to say, she wants me out of the school so that she can retain her title of most beautiful. Professor McGonagall thinks that it would be too dangerous to keep me close to Romilda, because the wicked step-mother was capable of very ... evil things. We don't exactly know how in-depth this whole thing is, really," Hermione finished off glumly.

Lavender patted her shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, Hermione. Stay here with us ... She'll never find you here. She'd be scared out of her mind to step even a foot into the Forbidden Forest." Hermione smiled back.

She smoothed out the creases in her clothes, whilst asking, "So now what?"

"You didn't answer my question about – _ACHOO ("Bless you!" said Dean) –_ Malfoy," Ernie said.

Hermione felt her pulse pick up, and she wondered why. She ignored it and nodded in response to Ernie. "He's actually very involved in this. He was the one who came up with the theory, by the way," she admitted grudgingly. But she needed to assure them that Malfoy wasn't half that bad as everyone thought he was.

Ernie's eyes looked as if they were going to fall out. He pinched his nose, stifling another sneeze, and said, "_Really!"_

Hermione sighed. "Yes, really."

"Out of curiosity, what part does he play, Hermione?" Lisa asked.

She could literally _feel_ her heart racing. It was because she was being put on the spot, that's why. Hermione shifted uncomfortably. "That's not important," she muttered.

"Prince Charming," Dean said, grinning.

Lisa looked thoroughly shocked. "_Malfoy?_ Prince _Charming?_ Well, I'll be..."

"Enough about Malfoy, already," Hermione said, getting irritated. The subject of Malfoy was too ... unsafe. "Jimmy, I believe you had a question about the beards?" she asked, effectively closing off the former subject.

Jimmy nodded quickly.

"Nothing will work," Ron grumbled. "I've already tried to take it out – by magic – and it just grows back."

Hermione smiled sympathetically as all the boys' expressions turned to ones of disappointment. "Just a few more days, I hope," Hermione said.

"You hope," Lisa repeated for emphasis.

"Yes, I hope," Hermione said sadly. She looked around the room. "So what can I do to help?"

Lavender burst out into laughter. "You don't honestly think that we're going to make you clean up the house and cook for us, right?" Lavender asked, giggling. "We're not going to pay strict attention to the book, Hermione!"

Hermione blushed, feeling stupid. "Of course not. It was worth asking though... What are you all getting up to today, then?"

A couple of them shared awkward looks. "Well, we were going to head up to the castle. We usually just spend the nights here. During the day we're at the castle..."

"Oh, that's alright. I don't mind staying here." Hermione hated imposing.

Lavender looked guilty. "Are you sure, though? Only... Parvati and I have this project to do..."

"...and Seamus and I have a potion to brew..." said Dean reluctantly.

Soon all were giving their excuses, and Hermione was feeling worse by the minute. "Please! I _really _don't mind if you all leave. I'm fine by myself," she assured them.

"I'll stay with you if you want, Hermione," Jimmy offered shyly.

Hermione smiled. This boy was so sweet. "No, that's quite alright, Jimmy. Now I insist, all of you please _go_," she instructed good-naturedly.

They obeyed reluctantly, and they all hopped off the bed, shooting uncertain looks at her. She ushered them out with her hands. Ron, especially, looked incredibly guilty. "Don't look so guilty, Ron," Hermione chided. "You haven't killed anyone."

"Harry and I were going to ask you to join us at the Three Broomsticks today," he sighed, his hand on the doorknob.

Hermione smiled, feeling a little sad. It felt like ages since she'd last had a proper conversation with her two best friends. She placed a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Even without the current circumstances, Ron, I wouldn't have been able to come."

Ron's brow furrowed. "Why not?"

"Because I would have been on corridor patrols," Hermione said, her eyes instinctively darting in the general direction of the castle. She already missed it so much. How her hands itched to get hold of a library book. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. She could wait out a day and a half of no reading. She was sure of it. She turned her gaze back toward Ron. "Ron," she said, "go with Harry to the Three Broomsticks."

He nodded unhappily. "Fine," he grumbled, and with a last glance at Hermione accompanied by a half-smile, he walked off.

Hermione stared after him sadly. It had been a long time since she had last reconnected with her friends. What with school, more demanding duties as Head Girl, the musical, the death of her mother ... there was just so much on her plate. It was difficult to eat it all with no cutlery. Leaning against the doorframe she made a vow to herself to make plans with Harry and Ron as soon as she got out of this mess. As soon as possible. She glanced down at the sleeping Daphne. The girl's long black hair covered practically the whole of her face. Her clothes – definitely designer – were creased.

Hermione bent down, completely unsure of what she was about to do. She poked Daphne's back. The girl mumbled in her sleep. Hermione gently shook her shoulder, and Daphne, without opening her eyes spat out, "What." The full effect of her tone (which was surely supposed to sound irritated) was muffled by her lethargy.

Hermione crouched on the floor beside Daphne. "Daphne," she said timidly.

"Hm."

"You should sleep on a bed," Hermione suggested.

"I'm fine here," she said, turning her face away from Hermione.

Hermione thought Daphne was being ridiculous and incredibly stubborn. There was nothing that Daphne could do when Hermione lifted her _("What the bloody hell do you think you're doing!" Daphne yelled, kicking in Hermione's arms_) and laid her gently on one of the beds. Hermione rubbed her hands together. "There, much better," she smiled.

Daphne glared at her. "Why the bloody hell did you just do that?" she seethed. Hermione raised her eyebrows. Daphne's anger wasn't necessary at all.

"You'd be more comfortable here," Hermione offered. "Additionally, you were damaging your back in the position it was previously in."

Daphne rolled her green eyes. She yawned loudly before harshly addressing Hermione, "Why the hell do you care so much?" She stretched her arms out in front of her, but didn't go back to sleeping.

Hermione sighed. "I don't know; I just do, so get used to it." She sat on the bed next to Daphne's.

Daphne tilted her head slightly, analyzing Hermione. Hermione stared back coolly. "You're not as bad as they say you are," Daphne said, a smirk pulling at her lips.

Hermione shifted. "And by 'they', you mean...?" An image of Draco Malfoy flashed before her eyes.

Daphne shrugged, closed her eyes as another yawn escaped, and leaned back against the headboard. "Just the odd Slytherin or two," she said nonchalantly, her eyes still closed.

"Like?" Hermione pressed.

Daphne opened her eyes and narrowed them in mild interest. "Again, why do you care?"

"I don't," Hermione said, looking out of the window at the trees. "I'd like to straighten these rumours out, that's all."

Daphne let out a short laugh which was interrupted by another yawn. "They're not _rumours_, Granger. What, you're telling me you don't have your head stuck in books all day long? That you're not a nerd? Please," she scoffed.

Hermione flared up at that. "I have a life," she said indignantly.

Daphne cocked an eyebrow. "Really?" she asked mock-disbelievingly, smirking. "Outside books and school?"

Hermione hesitated. And then, "Absolutely," she said, though not as convincing as she hoped for.

"What is it that you do?" It almost sounded like a dare. She had crossed her arms, waiting for Hermione to answer. This effect was spoilt by another yawn escaping Daphne's mouth. Tears were forming in her eyes.

"There's the musical..." Hermione started, but was stopped when Daphne let out a loud sigh.

"Oh please. You call the musical having fun? Have you not noticed the havoc it's created?" Daphne didn't even wait for Hermione to answer before she continued, "Leave that. We haven't even signed up for this. It was practically forced onto us."

"You _did_ have a choice," Hermione pointed out. "You could have refused to accept that ball."

Daphne smiled mockingly. "Half of us didn't even know why a ball had flown to us in the first place. Instinct told us to catch it."

"I guess..." Hermione said, faltering.

"Which brings us back to..."Daphne said dramatically, "...your life – or lack thereof." Another soundless yawn – which was more appropriate regarding her aforementioned words – flew out of her mouth.

Hermione thought. What fun did she do? She ran through a list of activities that she partook in, but none of them struck as her as 'fun'. "You know what?" she asked, looking at Daphne. Daphne moved her eyebrows in a gesture of 'What?' "I don't have _time_ to have a life," Hermione reasoned. "I have studying and exams—"

"Which we all know you're going to ace," interjected Daphne, rolling her eyes. "Live life a little, Granger."

Hermione sighed. "I can't," she said simply, looking away from Daphne.

"And why not?" Daphne asked, smirking.

Hermione threw up her hands. "I just can't. I've never done it before, actually, so I don't know how. It's difficult to just let go when you have all this stress weighted on your shoulders."

Daphne rolled her head around, probably trying to release the tension. "Look, Granger, if you're worried about your duties as Head Girl...I suggest you don't worry. Malfoy manages perfectly and he's Head Boy."

Hermione leaned forward. "How do you know he manages perfectly?" she asked curiously. She hadn't seen Malfoy managing anything "perfectly" well over the duration of his Head Boy year.

Daphne shrugged again. A yawn escaped her mouth. "To hell with these bloody yawns!" she muttered to herself, obviously irritated. And then to Hermione, "Well, I assume he's managing perfectly well. He did so previously."

Hermione shook her head. "That was probably before his parents were arrested, Daphne," she said quietly.

Daphne raised her eyebrows. "And how would you know?"

Hermione shifted again on the small bed. With the amount of shifting she was doing, she was scared she would break the bed. "He and I talk, that's all," she said under Daphne's cool, inquisitive gaze.

Daphne let out a low whistle. "Draco Malfoy opening up? Well, I'm impressed," she said, more to herself than to Hermione.

Hermione scratched her ear. "What do you mean?"

"I mean...Malfoy never told anyone about his feelings. Never. Except when he was dating my cousin, I think. But I'm surprised he opened up to _you_ of all people!"

Hermione ignored the mild jibe. She was concentrating on something else. "Sorry, but did you say he dated your cousin?" This fact shouldn't have affected Hermione but it did. Somewhere deep down, it bothered her that Malfoy would open up to another girl. Hermione had thought that...well, that she was the only one who could break through his hard exterior.

Daphne was sliding down now, ready to get tucked in. "Mm, about six months ago...Astoria Winter," she murmured, nestling into the pillow. Her eyes drifted shut, but Hermione wouldn't let it pass.

The name 'Astoria Winter' sounded mysterious almost. She sounded beautiful, and Hermione felt a pang in her chest. She shook her head. _Don't be silly_, she scolded herself. _You've only heard her name_. Though it still bothered her. Without being able to stop herself, she asked, "Is she pretty?" She bit her tongue, praying that Daphne had fallen off to sleep already and hadn't heard her.

No such luck. Daphne laughed once without humour before popping an eye open. "She's the most exquisite creature, that girl is," she muttered bitterly, though not sarcastically. Hermione looked away from Daphne out of the window. Why did that statement bother her that much? There were plenty of beautiful girls – Hermione herself was friends with a lot of them. "Why so many questions?" Daphne directed at her.

Hermione ignored her. The bed creaked as she got up from it. She walked towards the window. Hopefully the girl would fall off to sleep. Hermione stared out of the window into the dark forest. She couldn't really see the castle from here, except for the tips of it. She wished she was there. She felt something hit her ear. "Ow," she said, rubbing the tip of her ear, looking around. Daphne grinned at her.

"Sorry, but I wouldn't have gotten your attention any other way," she said by way of apology, though she hardly sounded sorry at all. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to her limited view of the castle.

"Don't make me throw something else at you," Daphne warned.

Hermione turned around reluctantly and faced her. It wasn't that she was afraid of getting something thrown at her – by a dwarf, no less! – it was that this Daphne Greengrass had something about her. Hermione found herself drawn to the girl's persona.

As soon as Daphne realized that she had Hermione's attention, she pounced. "You like Draco Malfoy," she stated, a glint in her eyes. She was sitting upright now, leaning against the headboard.

Hermione felt her eyes widen, and her treacherous heart picked up its pace once more. She felt her ears burn, and she said hotly, "Don't be ridiculous."

Daphne clapped her hands, almost in glee. "Of course! Classic case of denial. I take my hat off to you, Granger, for bringing the old cliché back," Daphne grinned.

Hermione tried to act as if this wasn't affecting her. It shouldn't affect her......

Why was it affecting her?

She tested her acting skills. She stared at Daphne head-on, and rolled her eyes, trying desperately to ignore the thumping rhythm of her heartbeats. "Daphne, I'm being completely honest with you. Malfoy and I are nothing more than friends," she said evenly, trying to not accelerate her words.

Daphne graced her with another roll of the eyes. "Bravo, Granger, you brought out cliché number two: the old 'nothing more than friends' shit," Daphne mocked. "Don't insult my intelligence, Granger."

Hermione attempted to imitate the girl's tone. "What intelligence?" she asked.

Daphne held a hand to her chest dramatically. "Ooh, she bites!" she laughed.

Hermione dragged her feet walking back to her former position on the bed next to Daphne. "She barks, too," she said with a sigh.

Daphne propped her head on her hand, looking at Hermione. "You're going to be honest with me now?"

Hermione stared at Daphne, deliberating. It wouldn't hurt, would it? Daphne's green eyes flickered mischievously. Hermione ignored this and said, "Whatever... _attraction_ I feel for Malfoy is due to this fairytale."

There. It was out in the open. But, in her defence, weren't half the girls in the school attracted to Draco Malfoy? So was it a huge shock that she found herself staring at him, driven with the mad urge to yell at him or embrace him? She would be a fool to deny it, as she had just demonstrated before Daphne. She blamed it on the fairytale's twisted idea of magic, of course. Without that fairytale in their lives, she wouldn't be feeling this way. The fairytale had induced her intense attraction to Malfoy. There was no other reason.

Daphne narrowed her eyes, and her pink lips twitched. "Perhaps," she whispered quietly, staring at the bed. Hermione was caught off-guard by the sudden change in Daphne's tone. She had been used to Daphne's harsh, mocking tone, not her whispering. Therefore, Hermione couldn't hear her properly.

"What?" she asked, hoping that Daphne would provide clarification on what she had just said.

Daphne looked up from the bed. "I said 'perhaps', meaning: maybe that is the case, Granger, but what if it's not?"

Hermione laughed, but Daphne remained silent, observing her. "You think that my feelings are genuine? That they stand independent of the fairytale?" Hermione asked, smiling widely. "Oh, _please_," she added, imitating Daphne to perfection.

The idea was of course ludicrous. This was why she was waiting with bated breath for the problem to be solved before ... well, before the ending of the fairytale. They were already halfway through. Because Hermione just couldn't picture she and Malfoy together. The pieces of the puzzle just didn't fit together properly. It was like imagining Millicent Bullstrode going out with Harry. Hermione shuddered. Yes, it was as impossible as that. She and Malfoy were too..._different_. They didn't share anything in common ... well, perhaps a _few_ things. The idea of them together was utterly implausible and would no doubt elicit laughs from countless other students.

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "First, don't ever do that again – no one can cause the same effect with sarcasm like me, and secondly...Granger, you live in an awfully tight bubble."

Hermione let out a long breath. "Are you thinking of becoming a psychologist one day? Because your methods are by the book."

Daphne blinked. "A psycho-what? Granger, I don't do Muggle-speak," she muttered.

Hermione waved a hand. "Sorry, I forgot whom I was speaking to. A psychologist is a—"

"—I don't actually care what it is," Daphne drawled. "You're missing the point I'm trying to make."

Hermione rolled her head around, relieving the tension. "Trust me, I got it loud and clear."

Daphne pursed her lips. "You're lying," she stated.

Hermione stuck her chin out. "How can you tell?"

"Your one eye is twitching. Malfoy's does the exact same thing when he's lying," Daphne replied, gesturing to Hermione's eye. "Look," Daphne said when she saw Hermione was about to interrupt, "I think that you shouldn't limit yourself to the fairytale. Consider what's going to happen after this huge mess is sorted out ... do you think your feelings will change? No-" Hermione had opened her mouth to say something, "-don't answer me yet. In fact, don't even tell me what your answer is. Ever. Just," Daphne shrugged, "you're clever. So you'll know what to do."

Hermione stared at Daphne, baffled. "Who gave you permission to give me advice?" she asked, though not unkindly. She was grateful for Daphne to offer her opinions, but those opinions were so unfortunately accurate that Hermione was forced to consider the impossible. She didn't want to taint her image of 'you're-not-as-bad-as-they-say-you-are' in Daphne's eyes, hence her question.

Daphne regarded her. "Your eyes," she murmured. "Your eyes gave me permission."

Hermione blinked. What did that mean?

"And speaking of eyes," Daphne said, a small yawn escaping her mouth, "I need to give mine a rest; they've been open for too long." Her eyes drifted shut, and Hermione quietly got up from the bed. Just before she reached the door, she heard Daphne say sleepily, "And don't worry about Astoria. They never had great chemistry anyway."

Hermione shut the door behind her a bit too harshly. As if that last comment helped at all! She walked towards the front door of the cottage and threw it open. A strong breeze swept through, tangling her hair. She lifted her head up to the sky, closing her eyes. This was exactly what she needed. Something to calm her down. She walked out of the cottage, being careful to bend her head on the way out. She turned right and walked through the long, green grass all around the cottage until she came to the backyard. She smiled softly at the sight that greeted her eyes. A lake to a dwarf's eye; a pond to a human's. Either way, it was beautiful, and the water rippled in motion to the wind. Pretty flowers were scattered all over the grass, and a tiny bench was visible beyond the pond. Hermione walked over to the pond, and sat down on the grass next to it. She trailed her hand through the icy water, thinking.

What was going to happen after Professor McGonagall stopped this magic affecting their lives? Hermione had instantly assumed that everything would vanish: emotions, character traits, physical similarities, etc. But how would emotions simply disappear? _Kapoof_? There would surely be strong memories of these emotions. She would simply _have _to remember her intense attraction towards Malfoy. It was impossible to forget something like that so suddenly. What if the memory stayed with her for a very long time? Would she find herself still attracted to him?

Hermione's hand paused in its movement through the water. That was a scary thought. She would have to find a way to sidestep this emotion. How to get rid of it?

She lifted her hand up, and the water fell through the gaps and off her palm like melted sand. The question was what if she _didn't_ want to get rid of it?

-------------------------------------------------------to be continued---------------------------------------------------------

_**A/**_**N: I seriously hope I haven't ruined things with this chapter. I just thought it was time Hermione accepted her feelings for Draco. Who cares if she blames it on the fairytale? But if you guys think I should wait a while before she admits it, I'll rewrite this chapter, no prob ... **

**Sorry about the long wait. I've been bad ... **

**If you want, you can drop by a review. tell me what you think, please? **


	20. Light Up My Cave

------------------------------------------------------LIGHT UP MY CAVE------------------------------------------------------

Daphne woke from her deep slumber to hear a clattering from the kitchen. _Oh Merlin, what did she break?_ she thought bitterly. Honestly, that Granger girl ... how dare she wake her up like that? She got off the bed and felt her limbs resentfully complaining. With all this sleeping, she hardly got any work done; her muscles got zilch exercise. She stomped towards the kitchen, but her quick steps slowed down as a familiar scent wafted up her nose. _Food?_ Her stomach grumbled – when was the last time Daphne had had food?

She was still peeved with Granger, though.

"Granger, what the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, watching Granger work with giant-sized pots and ingredients. Daphne waved a hand in front of her face, fanning herself. It was really hot in this kitchen.

Granger turned around, her black hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. Daphne wrinkled her nose automatically._ Ew, _Daphne thought. _All that sweat for just doing _work. Granger, despite being extremely pretty, looked like a thorough mess. The front of her clothes was messed with food, and she had smears of what looked like sauce on her face.

"Just cooking!" Granger said, panting slightly. Daphne raised an eyebrow. Was the girl stressing? Granger, noticing Daphne's reaction, said quickly, "No, I'm just working against time at the moment... Did you have something to ask?"

Daphne didn't actually care whether time was a problem or not. Granger had turned back to face the pot, stirring madly. Jeez, you'd think Snape was breathing down her neck telling her to hurry up, or something. "If you could keep the noise down, it would be much appreciated," Daphne said, mock-sweetly.

Granger whirled around, waving the sauce spoon at Daphne. Daphne ducked – bits of sauce were flying off the spoon. "I'd like to see _you_ standing here and cooking!" Granger said shrilly. "All _you_ do is _sleep, sleep, sleep!_" She turned back to the food, muttering things inaudibly.

Daphne felt like laughing. She clenched her teeth to hold the laugh back. This girl's moods fluctuated so haphazardly! She was seriously amusing, she was. One second she was blushing and getting all flustered at the mere mention of Malfoy, and the next moment she was spitting fire! She clenched her teeth tighter, and a few seconds later, the laughter died down.

"About that," Daphne started reluctantly. "I need your help with something." Daphne really didn't want to ask Granger for her help, but since she really wanted this...

Granger didn't reply; she just shrugged her shoulders. Daphne took that as a "go ahead" gesture. "Cast a spell on me that can temporarily keep me awake," she ordered. Granger didn't reply. "_Please_," Daphne added, gritting her teeth and rolling her eyes. Damn Granger and her ethics. Daphne really needed help, though. She couldn't do _anything_ because her body wanted to sleep all the time. It was bloody pathetic.

Granger tapped the edge of the pot with the spoon twice so that all the excess sauce was removed. She placed the spoon on a saucer next to the pot, and turned to face Daphne. She still didn't look too happy, though. Her eyebrows were furrowed, creating a double crease in her forehead. Her lips (damn, they were such an enviable red! She wasn't even wearing lip-gloss!) were pulled into a straight line.

"Well?" Daphne asked, tapping her foot impatiently.

Granger gave her a look. Daphne shrugged. Yeah, sure she might have been sounding a bit too unreasonable, acting a bit unreasonable, too – but really, this was an important matter!

Granger dusted her hands, and waved her wand behind her. Daphne stared, amazed (though she wouldn't have admitted it) as all the ingredients and pots (etc) shrunk back to their normal, dwarf-appropriate size. Daphne rolled her eyes afterwards. Of _course_ Granger would be able to do the spell! Why on earth had she doubted the girl's magical abilities?

The messy witch sighed. She regarded Daphne, looking her up and down. Daphne stared back coolly. "_Well?"_ Daphne asked again, this time more impatient.

"I might," Granger sighed.

"It's a yes or no question, Granger," Daphne said irritably, her hands on her hips.

Granger raised an eyebrow. "Honestly, you sound so much like Malfoy sometimes," she said, but then she shut her mouth with an audible snap, looking as if she shouldn't have said that.

Daphne shook her head. "You are really into Malfoy, aren't you?" she asked, but it was more of a rhetorical question.

Granger narrowed her eyes. "I'll do the spell," she said through her teeth, clearly irritated with herself.

Daphne clapped her hands. "Goody!" she said, deliberately overdoing her enthusiasm.

Granger pursed her lips at Daphne's reaction. Daphne grinned.

"I'm warning you, though, it's only temporary," Granger warned.

"Define temporary," Daphne said, folding her arms.

"Two hours," Granger replied, her mouth twitching.

Daphne was shocked. Two hours?! What could she do within two hours! Nothing, that's what. "You're kidding me, right?" she asked.

"Hardly," Granger replied.

Daphne sighed. Well, if that was all she was going to get, then so be it. "Bring it on," she said dryly.

Granger half-smiled. "Before I begin," she said – Daphne rolled her eyes. Won't the woman hurry up? – "What do you plan on doing?"

Daphne narrowed her eyes. Damn this girl's curiosity. "I don't think that's any of your business, Granger," she replied.

Granger's ears went visibly red. "Sorry. Right," she said jerkily. "Okay, let's do this," she muttered, taking her wand out, pointing it at Daphne. Daphne straightened, preparing herself for the spell. What she was expecting to feel, Merlin knows. Pain? That shouldn't happen, no. Tingly sensations? Possible.

She heard Granger murmur something, staring intently at Daphne. She flicked her wand in a complicated motion, and then lowered it. "Done," she announced.

Daphne blinked. "Done?" she asked. She hadn't felt any tingly sensations.

"Done," Granger repeated, nodding. "And you only have two hours, which started a few seconds ago."

Daphne jumped. "Right! So I won't feel sleepy at all?"

"Positive," Granger said, nodding again, with a smile on her face. "And please be back before your two hours are up – I don't know what'll happen if you fall off to sleep in the forest."

Daphne barely acknowledged this as she raced to the door and out. She heard Granger yell behind her, "You're welcome!"

Daphne ignored it. Was she supposed to display her not-so-perfect manners all the time? Was she supposed to throw gratitude at people's faces all the time? How tedious. She raced as fast as her (incredibly short) legs could carry her. She went down a different path so as to bypass the moody, emo centaurs. She waved her wand in front of her, so that the branches and twigs snapped out of her way. She couldn't afford to have any scratches on her body. The trees looked so unbelievably _tall_ that Daphne felt like ... well, a dwarf. About twenty minutes later (_Shit! Just over one-and-a-half hours left!),_ she was out of the forest. She carried on sprinting towards the castle, and about another ten minutes later, he gasped out the password to the Slytherin dormitories.

"Greengrass!"

"Daphne!"

Yes, she _did_ have friends. She grinned at them. "How're you all doing?" A couple of them had come to her, and were kneeling on their knees to stay on her level. They all exchanged pleasantries. After a while, when an awkward silence filled the air, Daphne looked around the Common Room. Not many people were there. A few lounged on the sofas, a few were making out with their better halves ... same old, same old. Daphne swung her head back to look at her friends. "Where's Blaise?" Her heart skipped a beat when she spoke his name. Yes, his effect of her was that powerful.

They looked at each other, seeing right through her. She tried to maintain a blank expression. When their mumbled replies of "Head Tower" came, Daphne muttered a quick goodbye and sprinted out of the Slytherin Common Room. Where was the Head Tower again? She glanced at her watch. Shit! One hour and a bit left! She based her direction on instinct, dashing up staircases, her legs complaining.

Good thing she based it on instinct. She came to a stop outside a portrait of a unicorn, basking in the sunlight. It looked over at her, its eyes questioning. "Look," Daphne said, panting. "I don't have the password, but could you just let me in?"

Wait. Did the unicorn just _roll its eyes_? Daphne blinked. "_Please_," she practically begged, looking up at the unicorn. Maybe because she was really tiny it didn't think much of her. Stupid unicorn. She drew herself up to her full height, and said in what she thought was a calm voice. "Look, you daft unicorn, it is _important_ that I get in there _this instant._ If I don't..." she trailed off, trying to come up with a good enough threat. "...I'll take this knife I have here in my pocket and-"

The portrait door swung open, and she grinned to herself. Her threat must have worked, then! Her grin faded when she saw who was standing behind the portrait. So it wasn't because of _her_ that the unicorn opened the bloody portrait for; it was because of...him. Her heart skipped another beat, and she felt her face get red.

"Hey, Blaise," she lifted her head to look at him, and tried to compose her face. How do you get rid of eyes that were shining with love? _Enough of that_, Daphne scolded herself, forcing herself to pull it together. "How's it going?" she asked, attempting to sound nonchalant.

Blaise bent down. "I'm okay, Daphne," he replied, smiling a little. _Wow_, Daphne thought, admiring his white teeth. His smile wavered. "Are you okay? Your cheeks are kind of red." His hand reached out as if to touch her cheek, but then stopped.

Daphne gulped, cursing her stupid body. She shrugged. "I was, you know, running real fast," she said, and then, just to emphasize her point, she placed a hand on her side. "I've also got a stitch, you know," she lied.

His eyes widened. "Why were you racing?" he asked, obviously concerned. "Is something wrong?"

Daphne cursed herself. What was it she heard Granger mumble in her sleep? Out of the pan and into the fire? Or something. It sounded right. "Er..." Daphne said intelligently, searching for an answer. She spotted a head of bold, blonde hair behind Blaise. "I came to speak to Malfoy."

Blaise smiled. Ah, those _teeth_. "Well, come on in, then," he said, and bent down to ruffle her hair. Daphne froze at the contact. His hand was so warm! But wait ... did he just ... _ruffle_ her hair? Wasn't that a sort of brotherly action? She frowned, walking passed Blaise. She tried to suppress the violent shudder that seemed to race through her body as she felt the heat radiating off him.

"Are you cold?" came Blaise's voice from behind her. She gritted her teeth. So _now_ he was observant? Playing big bloody brother? She ignored him, and instead took in the view around her. _Hmmm_, _not too bad_, she thought, admiring the Common Room. These heads sure had a lot of privileges. Her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when she noticed the mini-kitchen. _You have got to be shitting me_, she thought, shocked. They had a mini-library, too – not that she cared. Finally, she stopped beside Malfoy who was reading.

"Merlin, don't you ever stop?" Daphne said, cruising passed him, and scrambling up the couch he was sitting on. She climbed onto it, coming to a stop next to his thigh. She sat cross-legged on the seat, and fingered a cushion. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Blaise sit on the couch opposite. She ignored him. Stupid "brotherliness" of his.

"Gee, Greengrass, how lovely of you to stop by," Malfoy muttered sarcastically, though a little smile lifted the corners of his lips up.

Daphne held a hand to her chest. "Whoa! Was that a ... dare I say it... a _smile?_" she asked, pretending to be in shock. Though, half of her _was_ shocked. Malfoy? Smile?

Malfoy rolled his eyes, muttering, "Shut it." He returned his attention back to the book.

Daphne glanced at the cover, and nearly threw up. He was reading a bloody textbook – and it was a Saturday evening! "Oh, please, Malfoy," Daphne scoffed. "Muggle Studies? Ugh."

Before Malfoy could even respond, Blaise interjected. "Why do you call him by his surname?" he asked Daphne curiously. Daphne turned to look at him, and was momentarily lost in his toffee-coloured eyes.

"Sorry, what?" she asked, once she came out of her stupor.

Blaise leaned forward. Malfoy was also looking at him. "I asked why you call him by his surname."

Daphne turned to look at Malfoy and then looked back at Blaise. She pointed to Draco, saying, "He also calls me by my surname."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I call everybody by their surname," he said, sighing. He resumed with his reading.

"Yeah, but so do I," Daphne said.

Blaise looked at her. "That's not entirely true," he said, his lips twitching.

Daphne tilted her head. "Meaning?"

She saw him exchange a look with Malfoy. Were they sharing a private joke about her? "_Meaning_?" she repeated, sounding irritated. Why did she always have to repeat herself?

She turned to look at Malfoy. It looked as if he was laughing. "Well, you call my mate here by _his_ first name."

Daphne felt the blood rush to her ears. "Y-yes, well, that's ... different," she stammered, glancing at the centre table, then at the mini-kitchen – anywhere but at the boys.

"How so?" she heard Blaise ask. Was he _smiling_? The nerve of him.

She turned to glare at him. The git _was _smiling. "Do you want me to call you 'Zabini' then?" she asked, feeling really angry.

Next to her, Malfoy flipped over a page, humming a tune softly. "Would you quit _humming_, Malfoy?!" she practically screeched at him.

"You've got a problem with me humming, Greengrass?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yes!" she yelled. "It's _extremely_ annoying and _very_ out of character!"

Blaise laughed softly. She whirled around to face him. "Find something funny?" she snarled.

"No!" Blaise said, recovering. "It's just ... there you went again with your calling the other by their surname!"

Daphne gritted her teeth. "Fine, _Zabini_. Are you feeling left out?"

Blaise – ahem, _Zabini_ – held up his hands in mock-surrender. "No, no," he said, then hesitated. "Why can't we just call each other by our first names? I mean, there's no point in the whole calling-each-other-by-our-surname thing anyway."

Daphne slammed her hand down on the couch. "Yes, there _is_," she growled. "It shows emotional attachment when we call each other by our first names!"

Draco laughed softly next to her. She was about to say something mean to him, when Blaise caught her attention by speaking.

"So you're saying that you're emotionally attached to me?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Daphne's throat went dry. _Shit._ She had just constructed her own trap. "That's not what I said-" she said, her face feeling flushed.

Blaise folded his arms over his chest, and Daphne noticed how his biceps bulged. He grinned wickedly. "No, Daphne, dear, that's _exactly_ what you said."

Daphne grasped at loose straws. "Aha!" she exclaimed, pointing a finger at him. "You used my first name! So according to my theory, you're emotionally attached to me!" She was stretching it, she knew. It was untrue, she knew, yet her heart felt as if it was on fire.

Blaise leaned forward and whispered, "So what if I _am_ emotionally attached to you?"

Malfoy laughed, and Daphne felt immediately humiliated. There Blaise went again, with his brotherly affection. He was damn mocking her. Stupid idiot.

She rounded on Malfoy, desperate to take the attention away from herself for once. "Granger likes you!" she blurted.

That shut him up nicely. His book dropped out of his hands – Daphne was intrigued by this little action of his. She looked pointedly at the book, but he ignored it. "What-" his voice sounded scratchy. He cleared his throat. "What did you say?"

Daphne felt triumphant. "You heard me," she said, smirking.

-

Draco attempted to compose his face. He tried to clear the shock off his face, but he still _felt_ it. He knew that there were dozens of girls in this school who was after him – in fact, as of late, his fan club had grown significantly due to his new physique. But this news about Granger ... well, that was something else entirely, wasn't it? His mouth felt dry.

He leaned back into the couch, trying to appear cool. "How would you of all people know?" he scoffed. It was true, how _would_ she of all people know? As far as he knew, she hadn't ever come into interaction with Granger.

"She told me," Greengrass said smugly, looking as if she was thoroughly enjoying herself.

Okay, so maybe they _did_ interact with each other.

Still trying to suss her out, he fired another question, "Since when do you hang out with Granger?"

"She's living in our house, Malfoy," Greengrass stated, rolling her eyes.

Draco blinked. "Your..._house?_" He looked up at Blaise, but he also looked just as confused.

Greengrass threw her hands up into the air. "Yes! I'm one of the dwarfs, remember? So we all live in this really lame cottage somewhere in the middle of the Forbidden Forest-"

"The Forbidden Forest?" Draco interjected, hoping that he had heard incorrectly.

Greengrass rolled her eyes. "That's what I said."

Draco looked at Blaise again. Blaise shrugged, and Draco turned back to face Greengrass. "But that's dangerous, Greengrass!"

"And all of a sudden you care for a bunch of dwarfs, is it?" Daphne muttered sarcastically.

"I thought you said Granger was with you," Draco said, frowning.

"She is, Malfoy. She's Snow White, remember?"

Of course he remembered; how could he forget something like that?

He wanted to ask Greengrass something else, but tried to figure out a different way of asking it "Where are all the other dwarfs? At the cottage?"

"Pfft," Greengrass said. "Which losers would spend their time doing nothing on a Saturday?" She looked at them. "Except you two. No, Malfoy, they've all gone out for the day." She looked down at her nails.

Draco's thoughts raced. Which meant that Granger was alone! In a cottage in the bloody Forbidden Forest! He opened his mouth to ask about her, when Greengrass flashed him a look. "What's with all the bloody questions?" she fumed. "Did you not hear what I just said? Granger _likes_ you," she stressed the last part.

Draco shifted in his seat. "Yes, I heard you," he said, looking her straight in the eye.

"Then?" Greengrass pressed.

Draco began tapping his book. "Then what, Greengrass?" What was the girl playing at?

"What are you going to do about it?"

Draco shrugged. "Nothing," he said, trying to sound unconcerned.

"Nothing?" Greengrass repeated, incredulous.

Draco shrugged again. "Yes, Greengrass. She is only attracted to me because of this fairytale," he said, trying to convince both himself and Greengrass. Honestly, had there been no fairytale at all, Granger wouldn't ever be attracted to him. There was nothing about him – apart from his looks – to be attracted to. And seeing that she had seen him looking absolutely disgraceful before he got all these muscles and good looks, she was probably turned off. The fairytale. That's what it all centred on.

Greengrass leaned forward, pressing her hands into the couch. "But what if it surpasses the fairytale, Malfoy?" she asked in a whisper.

"Speak up – I can't hear you," complained Blaise.

Draco and Greengrass both ignored Blaise.

"How do you mean, Greengrass?" Draco asked, frowning.

"I mean," she continued in a whisper, "what if her feelings are genuine?"

"What if they're not?" Draco immediately countered.

"But what if they are?" she argued in her normal voice.

"What if they're—"

"—Look," she said, cutting across his retort, "just test it."

Draco looked at her as if she'd gone mad. "Are you feeling okay, Greengrass?"

She shook her head quickly. "Just –" and then she yawned.

"Just?" Draco asked.

She yawned again. She looked at her watch. "Shit." Her eyes began to close slowly, and she shook her head violently.

Draco looked at her, surprised. What on earth was happening? "Greengrass, what were you saying? Just...?"

She looked at him, and opened her mouth, before closing her eyes and dropping forward into his lap. Draco looked up at Blaise, alarmed. "What the hell just happened?" he asked, his voice a whisper. Maybe she had been poisoned! He tried to edge away from her body, but seeing that her head was right on top of his legs, he couldn't do anything.

Blaise was out of his seat in a flash, and next to Draco. He looked at Greengrass, and then tilted his head, confused.

"What is it?" asked Draco, who – from his position – couldn't see her face.

Blaise looked up. "She's sleeping," he said, sounding astonished.

"Sleeping," Draco repeated.

"Yeah, I can even hear her snores," Blaise said, looking at her again.

"Yes, let's all do an observation and tabulate the data while the girl sleeps on my lap," Draco commented dryly.

"Sorry, mate. Here—" Blaise picked her up and, as if he was carrying a child, cradled her to his chest. Draco raised his eyebrow. Blaise didn't even notice.

"Where should I leave her?"

Draco flicked his wand at the couch Blaise had been sitting on, and a moment later it had been transfigured into a dwarf-sized bed. He gestured toward the bed silently, and watched in amusement as Blaise walked over slowly, and gently laid her down on the bed. He turned to face Draco, his expression sombre. "Do you have any bedding?" he asked.

Draco, not taking his eyes off Blaise, waved his wand, and his extra blanket zoomed into the Common Room. Blaise niftily caught it, and he opened the blanket and slowly placed it over Greengrass, tucking in the edges.

Draco looked pointedly at Blaise when the latter came to sit next to him on the couch.

"What?" Blaise asked, looking away.

"Come off it, Blaise," Draco said, grinning.

"What?" Blaise asked again, looking at the sleeping Greengrass.

"You like her," Draco said, prodding Blaise with the end of his wand.

Blaise sighed, turning his attention away from her and on to Draco. "I know," he sighed.

"You're not going to even deny it?" Draco asked, surprised.

Blaise shrugged. "Where's the point, man?" he asked sounding sad.

Draco looked at his friend. The boy looked so downcast. He had gone back to staring at Greengrass. "She likes you, too, you know," Draco offered.

Blaise whipped his head around. "Really?" he grinned.

"It's obvious," Draco said quietly. Merlin, some people could be so oblivious.

Blaise leaned back into the couch, exhaling loudly. He placed his hands at the back of his head, as he stared up at the ceiling. "I hope you're right, man," he said quietly.

"When am I not right?" Draco laughed.

They both fell into a comfortable silence, and Greengrass's snores gradually filled the room. Draco took out his book to read, but didn't get around to reading it. He stared listlessly at the page before him, thinking. Sometimes he envied Blaise. Not for all the girls he managed to get – Draco got a lot of attention as well – but it was the way in which he handled those girls. He could do it so effortlessly, whereas for Draco, he had to physically restrain himself not to cringe.

Before, it had been easy. But after his parent's arrest, he just changed. Even with Blaise's casual friends – like Parkinson – he could effortlessly handle her. Blaise and Parkinson were good friends, he knew that. Draco reflected on what had just occurred: the way in which Blaise had touched Daphne...as if she was a fragile doll. He must have genuinely liked her, then. But more over, Blaise could express his emotions.

Expressing emotions wasn't bad, now that Draco looked at it. If he had to think back to how many emotions he used to conceal, showing people only a blank mask. Where was the point? Granger had been right, all those nights ago. Concealing emotion, no matter how weak or powerful it was, could only lead to self-destruction. Draco was now letting go. It was difficult. But all self-healing processes were trying, weren't they? Maybe he'd try to imitate Blaise, for now. He had forgotten how he, Draco, used to do it. Yes, he'd mimic Blaise. Just a bit. Then, the next time when he saw Granger –

"Draco?" Blaise asked, cutting across Draco's thoughts.

Draco snapped his attention to Blaise who was still staring up at the ceiling. "Hm?" Draco replied.

"How do you honestly feel about Granger?" Blaise asked, his head rolling to the side to look at Draco.

"I thought you wanted to call people by their first names?" Draco asked, deflecting Blaise's question.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Fine. How do you honestly feel about _Hermione_?"

Her name sounded weird like that. "Hermione," he said, trying it out. "Hermione," he repeated. "_Her_mione...Her_mione_," he said, trying out different variations. He was surprised to see how easily it rolled off his tongue. "Hermione," he said once more, normally.

"If you're quite done," Blaise said, smirking.

Draco had almost forgotten that Blaise was there. He cleared his throat. "I was trying out the first-name thing," he said defensively. He ran a hand through his hair. What had just happened?

"That doesn't answer my question, Draco," he commented.

"Which question?" Draco asked, playing innocent.

"You just want to hear her name again, isn't?" Blaise asked teasingly.

Draco rolled his eyes. "If I did – which I don't – I would've said it myself – which I won't," Draco said slowly, making sure that Blaise got the message loud and clearly.

"You will and you won't, you do and you don't," Blaise quipped irritatingly.

"Merlin knows what you're going on about," Draco muttered, turning to act as if he was reading. Truth was he couldn't read. He had too much on his mind.

"Why are you avoiding my question? Don't even think about asking which question I'm talking about," Blaise added threateningly when he saw Draco's mouth pop open.

Draco waved a hand as if clearing those words that hung there in front of them out of the way. "I was just going to say that it's you that keeps changing it," Draco said.

Blaise leaned back to have a better look at Draco. "Oh really? Just now you were acting as if you didn't know which question I was talking about," he smirked.

"We're talking about insignificant things now," Draco said impatiently, attempting to regain his previous level of concentration – he had actually come to quite an interesting chapter in the Muggle Studies textbook.

"Fine, I'll ask again: how do you _honestly_ feel about Gran – I beg your pardon, _Hermione_?" Blaise asked pleasantly.

"Why did you place emphasis on the word 'honestly'?" Draco asked, noticing it immediately.

Blaise heaved a frustrated sigh. "Draco, I'm going to—"

Draco held up his hands. "Okay, okay, I'll answer it."

Silence.

"I'm waiting," Blaise said.

"Merlin, I feel _nothing_ for her, Blaise!" Draco hissed. This, in itself, was a lie.

"You're lying," Blaise accused, narrowing his eyes.

"How do you even know that?" Draco asked, feeling violated. It was getting really annoying these days when people saw right through him. Was this a skill or something?

"Your one eye is twitching," Blaise stated, "like it usually does when you're lying."

"You should be in MI6 with observant skills like that," Draco said sarcastically.

Blaise stared blankly at him. "I'm sorry, the what?"

Draco sighed. "MI6 is a British spying agency. Like detectives. We're going to be learning more about them later in Muggle Studies—"

"I don't care who they are, Draco. I don't do Muggle-speak," Blaise muttered, rolling his eyes. "You're missing the point."

"What point?" Draco asked, again trying to play innocent.

"That you're damn lying, Draco!" Blaise said, aggravated.

"Right, right," Draco said softly. He looked Blaise squarely in the eye. "You want the truth, right?"

Draco could practically hear Blaise breathing in and out through his nose. "No, Draco. I would really appreciate it if you continue to lie to me," he said, lacing his words with mild scorn.

Draco disregarded Blaise's comment. As Draco's closest male friend, Blaise deserved the truth. "Blaise," he started, and then stopped. How should he begin? "Granger ..."

"First name," Blaise reminded him.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Hermione then," her name flew so effortlessly out of his mouth. "She has helped me in more ways you could imagine."

Blaise stopped smiling. "_Helped_ you? How?"

"I'm getting to that," Draco said, trying to not sound too impatient, but he really hated it when people cut across him. "Before, it felt as if I was in this...dark cave or something. And ... as if I was living with bats...or something." Blaise looked thoroughly puzzled. "No, wait, you'll understand in a minute," Draco said, reassuring Blaise. "And Granger... she was like this...fire." Blaise's eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline. "Like the fire I couldn't light, you know? And she sort of made my life a brighter place. And yes, I know that sounds like a terrible cliché, but that's really what it felt like. She just walked in, and drove all those bats away."

"Uh huh," Blaise said.

"What?" Draco said, coming out of his memories.

"What, exactly, do these bats represent?"

Draco smiled a small smile. "All the bad things, Blaise. All the bad things," he said softly.

"Ah," Blaise said.

"And over time, I healed. I'm still healing," Draco added, looking meaningfully at Blaise. "She just brought out a mirror and made me look at myself – made me look _into_ myself."

"Can mirrors do that?"Blaise asked, looking at Draco with interest.

Draco shook his head, sighing. "No, Blaise, I'm talking _figuratively_," Draco said slowly, as if speaking to an academically challenged boy.

Blaise nodded slowly. "Ah."

"She made me realize a lot of things actually. It's how I came back to Quidditch, actually."

Now Blaise was genuinely intrigued. "_Really_? I must meet this girl, man."

Draco smiled. "She's ... indescribable, Blaise. She's different, you know?"

Blaise looked over at Greengrass. "Yeah, I know," he murmured.

Silence ensued, and Draco returned to his thoughts and memories. The only thing he could see really was—

"But you still haven't told me yet," Blaise said, "about your feelings for her."

Draco laughed. He closed his eyes briefly and seeing the image again, he opened them. "Blaise, I don't see her as anything else other than a friend," he said quietly.

Blaise narrowed his eyes. "Your eye isn't even twitching this time," he said, sounding almost disappointed.

Draco laughed again. "That's because I'm not lying, Blaise!"

Blaise let out a _humph_. "So it's because of her you laugh and smile so much these days?"

Draco hesitated. Was it? "I...don't know, actually. I'm not really conscious of what I do."

Blaise _humph_ed again. "Mate, you just speak so...peacefully about her. I mean, you get this _look_ in your eyes—"

Draco laughed. "Are you reading Parkinson's romance novels again, Blaise?"

"No!" Blaise cried. "And use first names."

"We're just friends, Blaise," Draco said, smiling, ignoring the 'first names' comment. He loved being friends with Gran- _Hermione_. Their friendship made his cave brighter.

Blaise sighed, looking glum.

"Now what's wrong? I've answered all your questions, haven't I?"

"Yeah, but," Blaise said, "I just thought it would be ace if, you know, we both had a partner."

Draco felt his forehead crinkle. "Meaning?"

Blaise looked over at Greengrass again. He sighed and then looked back at Draco. "Well, mate, I'm going to ask Daphne out tomorrow, first chance I get."

"Good for you," Draco said good-naturedly.

"Yeah, but," Blaise said, shrugging, "I thought that if you had to ask Hermione out, we could all double-date, ya know?"

Draco shook his head. "Blaise, even if I was romantically interested in Gran- I mean, Hermione," Draco corrected himself when he saw Blaise about to cut in, "I wouldn't ask her out."

Blaise looked shocked. "What? I'm shocked."

"I'd have to gauge whether she likes me, too, before I make myself look like a fool in front of her."

"But Daphne just said that Hermione _does_ like you!" Blaise said, practically yelling. Damn these Italians and their emotions. Draco made a shushing gesture, pointing at Greengrass. "Oh, right," Blaise whispered, glancing guiltily back at Greengrass. He turned back to Draco. "But Daphne just said that Hermione _does_ like you!" he repeated in a whisper.

"It's because of the fairytale, Blaise," Draco said, returning to his book.

"Then why don't you feel anything?" Blaise accused. "I thought that Prince Charming and Snow White shared a mutual attraction."

"My part only comes in later, Blaise," Draco said without looking up from his book. "Snow White falls in love with the prince first. She admires him from afar. Only at the end does the prince realize his love for her."

"Either way, you're going to be attracted to her," Blaise argued.

"Which is why McGonagall is helping out so that the ending doesn't happen..." Draco trailed off, the wheels in his mind spinning. He snapped the book shut with such a loud _snap_ that it startled Blaise. Draco jumped up from his seat. "Shit!" He exclaimed.

Blaise made a shushing gesture pointing at Greengrass. Draco ignored him. He grabbed Blaise by his robes pulling him up. "Hey! What'd I do?" he asked. "You're pulling out all my good hairs, Draco," he complained.

"Don't you bloody _realize?_" Draco hissed.

"Realize what?" Blaise asked, trying to get Draco to release his hold on his shirt (and his chest hairs).

Draco pushed Blaise away from him, gathering a few items – his cloak, his wand, etc – saying, "Didn't you hear what Greengrass said – _I don't care about first names, Blaise!_ –" Blaise shut his mouth. "-she said that all the dwarfs are _gone!_ And that's the exact same thing that happened in the story! All the dwarfs _left_ and Snow White was left all _alone_," Draco was running around the room, double-checking to see if he left anything behind. "And that's when the wicked witch attacks! Right now, Hermione is all _alone_. Vane could be on her way into the forest at this moment!"

Blaise's mouth dropped open in shock. He hardly even noticed Draco slam the portrait door shut behind him.

-------------------------------------------------------to be continued---------------------------------------------------------

_**A/**_**N: **I really hope you liked that! It was a fun chapter to write, so I hope it's well-received. =) A lot of you asked for a bit of Harry and Draco. So sorry about Harry, but I did bring in Draco – along with Blaise and Daphne – a side romance =)

Playlist for this chapter: well, actually, all of Paramore's songs - the ones on Riot!, All we know is falling, and Brand new eyes

Love you all for reviewing! Seriously, thank you **so**much!


	21. Prince Charming

Okay, so I got this request of putting the playlist _before_ the chapter instead of after, and seeing that I can't list all the songs – as that would take up way too much of space – I'm gonna give you the album names: Out of Ashes (Linkin Park); It Won't Be Soon Before Long (Maroon 5); Loose (Nelly Furtado); Animal (Ke$ha). And that's it. Some of the songs just help my thoughts flow easier.

-------------------------------------------------------PRINCE CHARMING-----------------------------------------------------

He wiped the sweat off his forehead as he continued to dash down the corridors. At one stage he bumped into a group of first-years. He almost stopped to apologize, but realized that any time wasted inflicted Hermione's life. He heard behind him the cries of outrage from the group but ignored them. He went down the staircases so fast he almost tripped, but thankfully he didn't. Just as he was passing the Great Hall, he knocked into a petite woman. _Shit_, he thought as the both of them fell from the impact. Draco had fallen hard on his bottom, but he ignored the dull throbbing. He got up, but before he could hurry off again, he heard the unfortunately familiar voice behind him say, "Mr Malfoy, a hand please?"

Draco turned around, and almost ran away again. Almost. He clenched his jaw, and stuck out a hand to help Professor Pinkle up. Not even before she was completely up, did he let go. She stumbled backwards, but smiled widely at him. "Thank you _so_ much, Mr Malfoy," she said, her words sounding like a tune. Draco nodded and turned around again to head out of the castle when she stopped him. "Oh, Mr Malfoy?" she called.

Sheer respect – and nothing else – caused him to stop and turn around _again_. "Yes, Professor Pinkle?" he forced out, trying to sound polite.

She beamed. "I will be seeing you just now, yes?" she asked, dusting her clothes.

"Why?" Draco asked immediately. Today was Saturday! They had no classes.

Professor Pinkle blinked. "Why, for the meeting I called for the cast, _silly_!" she laughed.

Draco balled his hands into fists. He couldn't stand this woman. "Sorry, Professor Pinkle, but _sadly_ I won't be able to make it." And even though his parents had taught him proper etiquette around adults, he completely disregarded their teachings. He forced out a polite smile and turned his back on her, racing towards the castle door. He ignored her sputters of "M-Mr Malfoy!" and dashed down the stairs. His long (and thankfully muscular) legs carried him at the speed of – well, not light, certainly, but he was definitely running faster than he normally did.

Once he was at the edge of the forest, he withdrew his wand, pointing it into the air. "_Accio Whip-Crack!_" he gasped out. He didn't have to wait long until he heard the _whoosh_ of his broomstick as it fought the wind on its way to him. It settled before him, suspended in the air. He wasted no time in mounting it and directing it up into the air. He hovered above the Forbidden Forest, trying to decide on a direction. He closed his eyes, thinking. The strong wind that tousled his hair proved vital to clear thinking. Where would there be a clearing in the forest? How far into the forest would it be?

He had never been into the forest, unless you counted the time he had to go in for punishment. After that day, he never wished to step another foot into the forest. So, how was he supposed to know every nook and cranny in it? Merlin, there were probably dangerous, flesh-eating creatures in there! Draco gulped, but he fought for composure as he realized that he was in the air and not on the ground.

So, back to his initial question, where would the clearing be? He swivelled his broomstick left and then right, with his eyes still closed. He gave his body over to instinct and the broomstick. He swivelled his broomstick again, and felt a gentle pull towards his left. He blinked open his eyes. With grim determination, he leaned forward, and zoomed in a north-westerly direction. _Faster_, he urged his broomstick, as if it could read his thoughts. Yet his speed did pick up. So much so, that he couldn't see anything clearly because it was all a blur of colour. He pulled up his broomstick to apply the brakes, and looked down. No, just trees. He looked all around him, but could still only see trees. He sat there on his broom, frustration and worry seeping through his skin. Was the clearing behind or ahead of him? This was the one time he cursed the powerful speed of his broomstick.

He pulled at his hair desperately. She could be half-dead, by now! He rotated once more, but still couldn't see anything. He was about to take off again when he spotted something out of his peripheral vision. He turned in the direction of the something and was surprised to see in the far distance, wisps of smoke as they curled and twisted into nothing as they went higher and higher into the air. The smoke seemed to be coming from a specific place, so Draco, relying on his gut feeling, leaned forward on his broomstick and zoomed forward.

Seconds later, he halted a few good feet away from the smoke. He didn't waste any time on letting out a relieved sigh when he noticed the cottage (a cottage that made Hagrid's hut look _incredibly_ huge). He raced forward, and when he was just above ground level, he jumped off the broom, throwing it aside. He banged open the door, bent down and yelled, "Hermione!"

He walked into the house, still bent, and peered worriedly around the small lounge adjoined to the kitchen. No sign of her. He stooped around the room, holding out his wand. "Hermione!" he bellowed louder.

A door to his left creaked open slowly, and he spun in the direction of the noise, brandishing his wand. He half-expected Romilda Vane to come out, but his racing heart calmed down dramatically when he noticed a sleepy Hermione come out. He lowered his wand, breathing a sigh of relief. He couldn't believe he had been so worried! He glanced around him quickly, checking for any signs of Romilda Vane or stray apples. When he found nothing (except the crackling fire in the fireplace) he turned back to face her.

"Malfoy?" she asked, sounding completely uncertain, rubbing her eyes.

He nodded. "Hello," he said, smiling. He walked towards her, but stopped when she held up a hand.

"Wait," she said, her eyebrows furrowed, her mouth twisted.

Draco felt confused. Was that fear that twisted her lips like that? "What's wrong?" he asked, stepping forward again. He wasn't planning on getting too close to her; just a safe distance, but close enough so that he could see her clearly.

"I said wait!" she yelled shrilly, the sleep completely disappearing. She stepped backwards, withdrawing her wand at the same time. Draco was beyond confusion. "Don't step any closer," she warned, a hint of a threat underlying her voice.

"Hermione, what's the--?" he started to ask, when she cut across him.

"Prove that you're Draco Malfoy!" she commanded, still in a high-pitched voice, her wand aimed at his chest.

Draco blinked. "Sorry, what?" he asked, baffled. Was she feeling okay? He took another step forward, this time without thinking. "Hermione are you--?"

"_Stay_ where you are!" she yelled, taking another step backwards. She took in a deep breath, and said in a much lower voice, "_Prove _that you are Draco Malfoy."

She sounded possessed. "I don't understand what you're saying," he said, worry etched into his voice. His wand was still in his hand and he gripped it tighter.

Hermione lifted her head. "How do I know you're not Romilda Vane?" she asked threateningly.

Comprehension dawned upon Draco and he laughed. "No, no, I can assure you that I'm Draco Malfoy," he assured her, stepping towards her.

"I don't believe you," she said, visibly tensing. Draco was about to interject when she said, "For one, Draco Malfoy _never_ calls me by my first name—" Draco bit his tongue. Shit, Blaise had drilled it into his head the whole afternoon, and he had gotten so used to calling her by her first name. He opened his mouth to defend his case, when she continued in a low voice, "-Two, he hardly ever laughs—" Draco raised his eyebrows in amusement, but waited for her to continue, "—and _three_, he's hardly ever concerned about my welfare. So, state your real name before I curse you." Her voice sounded incredibly scary, yet Draco laughed again, tilting his head to analyze her.

She was wearing the same clothes she had been when she left, and it looked extremely creased. Yet...it looked right on her. Completely acceptable. Her hair was scrunched up into a high ponytail, yet tendrils of hair hung on the sides of her face. Her red lips were puckered into a frown, and her brown eyes were flashing.

He placed his wand on the floor in front of him, never taking his eyes off her. "_Hermione_," he said deliberately (why revert to calling her by her surname when her proper name sounded and felt so much better?). "I _am_ Draco Malfoy."

She glared. "Don't call me that...whoever you are, and you need to prove it."

Draco rolled his eyes, but walked forwards again. "Her name is Gladys Winter," he said softly.

He could see her relax, and he almost smiled again until she threw up her walls. "If you are Romilda Vane, you could have found that out from Ginny," she stated, looking directly into his eyes and taking another step backwards. This action pushed the door behind her further open, and Draco could see a bedroom.

He thought. How to prove his identity? He looked around him for inspiration. His eyes settled on the – just how many of them were there in that room? – beds in the room she was backing into. Then, he got it. "Your father's eyes are the exact same shade as yours," he murmured. This was true. Their eyes weren't even a smudge less different.

She narrowed her eyes. "That's a lucky guess," she stated.

Draco nodded. She was right, he supposed. "Let's see," he said, thinking. She looked at him, her eyes never wavering from his. "Alright," he said, nodding again. This was sure to convince her. "In your room, you have a picture of you and Ginny Weasley licking a pink-coloured ice-cream." He smiled at the memory of the photograph; she had looked so innocent in that picture.

She faltered. Her arm lowering, but she shook her head and raised her arm again. "You could've found that out from Ginny, too," she said thinly.

Draco sighed. He knew that she was just trying to be safe, that she was trying to decipher his words that would confirm that he wasn't an impostor. He ran a hand through his hair, and he saw her follow the movement. What was something that no one else but him would know? She shifted her weight from her right foot to her left, and he followed her movement – Aha! He got it.

"You have a birthmark in the shape of a distorted star on your left inner thigh," he stated, smiling slightly. That was sure to throw her.

She lowered her wand-raised arm, her other hand reaching down automatically to her left thigh. She stopped, when she realized what she was doing. "H-how did you know that?" she whispered incredulously, staring at him.

He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "I just do," he said, staring right into her eyes. He took another step forward, hoping that she would interpret his body language correctly. He was trying to convey his sincerity and honesty, but her doubt in his words was making it difficult.

"But _how_?" she pressed.

He chose not to say anything, hoping that it would shut her up.

"Nobody else knows that," she said. "How do _you_ know that?"

He rolled his hand around. "Look, I just do. Does that confirm my identity, now?"

Something he had said – probably his last question – seemed to remind her to point her wand at him. "No. Perhaps if you answered my question it would," she said.

Draco stared at her for a second longer before responding. He saw the anger and doubt fade from her eyes ever so slowly. "I believe that you already trust me, Hermione," he said, smirking. "I can tell you do."

"Answer the bloody question," she demanded.

He sighed. "The night you found out your father wanted to remarry, I gave you a gown, you remember?" he asked, although, quite surprisingly, his pulse picked up as he took a trip down memory lane.

She nodded slowly. "I still don't see—"

"When you removed the gown later...well, your ... _nightwear—"_ for lack of a better word "—lifted up slightly," he said softly, and closed his eyes absent-mindedly. He needn't have said more. It was fairly obvious.

He opened his eyes, and caught the soft blush that was spreading across her cheeks. _Red looks really lovely on her_. He coughed, startled at what he had just thought. A second later, he shrugged it off, thinking that it was the kind of thing friends thought about each other. To cover up his own embarrassment – even though he didn't show it – he asked, smiling, "Blushing, Hermione?"

She narrowed her eyes, but the blush didn't go away. "I believe you, Malfoy," was all she said, and lowered her wand.

Draco inwardly laughed. He bent to retrieve his wand from the floor and walked towards her smoothly, and she didn't interrupt him. When he passed her, he heard her breathe in deeply – was she smelling him? He inwardly grinned as this action of hers confirmed what Greengrass had told him earlier. He ignored the heat radiating off her body. Men hardly felt cold, yet this heat ... it wasn't like normal heat – something else entirely. Something akin to...magic? He ducked his head as he walked into the bedroom. No, nothing could be equivalent to magic, surely. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.

Still bent, he asked, "So this is where the seven dwarfs sleep?" Seven beds draped with white linen were lined up against one wall. He waved his wand and they all merged. He sat across two beds, facing her. He leaned his back on his hands, glad that his spine was back to its former shape. "How come there's no other furniture here?"

She walked over to him, and sat on the bed next to him. "I don't know actually," she said, shrugging and looking around. "They only eat and sleep here – everything else they do in the castle." Her gaze moved passed him, and Draco followed it. Ah, she was looking out of the window. He noticed her eyes cloud over with longing, and again he felt a surge of pity for her.

"Hm," he simply said, letting his thoughts flow effortlessly in his mind.

She looked at him then, and her lips curved into a sheepish grin. "Sorry about that, but I had to do it," she said, jerking her head in the direction of the lounge area. The blush, Draco noticed, was slowly fading. She looked around her. "I was alone...and the idea of Romilda Vane coming to pay me a _visit_ was completely plausible."

He waved her apology away with a hand. "I understand," he replied quietly.

A comfortable silence settled upon them. Hermione suddenly asked, "Why did you come here anyway?"

Draco scratched his knee even though it wasn't itching. "Well, I gathered that you would be alone, and arrived at the conclusion that Vane would make a move," he said, looking out of the window.

"Hmm," was all she said, her voice sounding curious.

He turned to look at her. "What does that mean?"

She scratched her nose self-consciously, and Draco patiently waited. "Well, it's just so...Prince Charming," was what she finally said after a while.

"Prince Charming?" Draco repeated quickly, his hands clenching the duvet on the either side of him.

She nodded, fidgeting with the duvet. "Prince Charming coming to save the damsel in distress sort of thing..." she muttered.

Draco needed to clear up something. "Yes, but that was only my character acting," he said, his voice sounding clipped.

He saw her eyes widen and he watched with alarm as naked hurt filled them. A siren went off in his head and Draco realized what he had just said, and how she had probably interpreted it. But he couldn't excuse or correct himself. How do you correct the truth? By lying? No, Draco Malfoy didn't lie. When he looked at her again, he noticed that she had replaced the ... previous emotion with a look of blankness.

"I know," she said, finding the sight of the book-sized pillow far more interesting than him.

"Besides," Draco said in a lighter tone, trying to clear the thick tension and discomfort in the air, "are you defining yourself as a 'damsel in a distress'?"

_Ah, so the pillow wasn't that interesting after all,_ he thought as her sharp gaze settled upon himonce more. "Hardly," she replied shortly.

He must have really offended her...but still, he wasn't going to say anything. Everything was based on the fairytale, which explains why he had left in such a hurry. She _had_ to know that! "Well," he said, this time throwing in a smile to drain the tension from the atmosphere away – it was still as thick as it was a moment ago. "You're right; you could fight off any demon that approached you."

She nodded. "Probably," she said, looking at the pillow again.

Draco's mouth felt dry. He had no idea what else to say. He had really tried – well, not _really_ tried, he knew that. He could have said something to make up for what he had said earlier...but he didn't. He leaned back so that his back was flat against the bed. He couldn't see an inch of her; only the white ceiling above him. He closed his eyes, but the only thing he could see was her hurt-filled eyes. Annoyed, he opened his eyes and resorted to analyzing the ceiling. Temptation was for the weak.

It was she who broke the silence after five incredibly long minutes.

"How did you know I was alone?" he heard her ask quietly.

"Oh, Greengrass came to visit, and she mentioned it," he muttered.

"Daphne Greengrass?" she asked, clarifying.

Ah, he forgot about the whole first name thing. He forced her name out, "Yes, Daphne came by this afternoon." His fingers tapped a quick beat on the duvet.

"She didn't happen to ... mention anything, did she?" she asked hesitantly.

Draco allowed himself a discreet smirk. She was worried about whether Green- _Daphne_ had told him about Hermione's affection for him. Draco thought he would have a little bit of fun. "She mentioned a lot of things, Hermione. To which part are you referring to?" he asked, trying to sound dry.

She was quiet for a second. "Why are you calling me by my name?" she asked. She had deflected his question.

"Blaise said it was pointless calling people by their surnames," Draco said. He made an exaggerated effort to get up from his restful position. The emotion expressed on her face was concealed, once again, yet something – curiosity? – pulled up her eyebrows faintly.

"But you just referred to Daphne as 'Greengrass'," she observed.

Draco shrugged. "Yes, well, some names catch on easier than others."

"You mean 'Hermione' is easier than just 'Daphne'?" she asked sceptically, obviously thinking that her name was more complicated.

Ah, that was where she was going to. "As I said, some names catch on easier than others," he said, refusing to look away. Looking away would make him look guilty, or something.

"Aha," she simply said, this time examining her nails. _Strange_, Draco thought. He would have never pegged her as the 'examining-my-nails' kind of girl.

"Daphne mentioned some interesting things today," he said trying to act blasé, when he really wanted to gauge her reaction.

He noticed her shoulders tense. "Oh?" she asked, now twisting her hand this way and that.

"Yes...she mentioned you," he said.

Her hand froze. She didn't say anything. He noticed her lick her lips – was she nervous? Finally! A reaction. Neither one of them said anything for a few seconds. Draco, agitated by her non-words, was about to say something when she cleared her throat and said, "What was it that she said?"

Draco smirked, knowing that she couldn't see him. He loved knowing things others didn't ... well, technically, she _did_ know. But she didn't know that _he_ knew. "Nothing of consequence," he said in an offhand manner.

She looked up sharply. Maybe he hadn't hidden all of his real emotion in his voice. "What did she say, Malfoy?"

He avoided her question. "Why don't you try calling me by my first name, Hermione?" he suggested sincerely.

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows lifted. "Because..." she started.

"Because...?" he urged.

"Because it would sound odd," she said, nodding to herself as if what she had just said made perfect sense.

"Odd," he repeated, amused.

"It's crossing into unfamiliar territory," she argued, and a crease spread across the bridge of her nose as it always did when she started arguing.

"Sometimes, you need to jump into the deep, Hermione," he said wisely. Well, what he thought sounded wise.

"That's being far too dramatic, Malfoy," she said, sighing.

"And here I thought that you weren't a coward," Draco said, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm _comfortable_ with calling you 'Malfoy', _Malfoy_," she said.

Draco held his hands up. "And who am I to interfere with your comfort zone?" he asked.

She regarded him. "I mean...don't _you_ find it a little bizarre?" she asked, leaning forward.

"Hardly," he said, shrugging. He didn't find calling her 'Hermione' bizarre at all. Pleasure was welcome at all times. Not that he felt _pleasure_ when he said her name. It just felt nice, that's all. A name's a name, after all.

"You're lying," she accused.

"I'm not," Draco laughed.

"You mean to tell me that after several years of calling me everything but my name, you're perfectly at ease?" she asked, disbelief colouring her voice.

"Absolutely," he grinned.

She frowned. "You smile too much," she said.

"I thought you liked me smiling," Draco said, cocking an eyebrow.

"When did I say that?" she asked.

"It's naturally assumed, of course," Draco said, smirking.

She rolled her eyes, her frown disappearing. She knew he was teasing her.

"Seriously!" he said. "Smiles look good on everybody...unless they don't have teeth," he added, his tone one of seriousness, "– that would look horribly wrong." Ah, a small smile, at least. He could do with that. He sighed.

"Malfoy," she said.

"Draco," he corrected.

"Malfoy," she said again. Draco rolled his eyes. "You haven't answered my question."

Draco leaned back so that his back was resting on the bed again. The bed creaked loudly beneath him. He wasn't going to milk it out of her. He closed his eyes, now thinking of the small smile she had allowed him. It was such a good thing that the two of them were friends. He got to smile and laugh more.

"_Malfoy_," she said loudly.

"Draco," he murmured, his eyes still closed.

"Malfoy, are you going to tell me about what Daphne told you about me?" she asked, her voice almost sounding pleading. _Almost_, but Draco knew that she valued her pride too much to sound like a beggar.

"Do you really want to know?" he asked softly, images swimming before him in the darkness.

She seemed to hesitate before answering. "...Yes..."

"Are you sure? You might not like it," he said seriously.

"Malfoy, just spit it out already," she said, now irritated.

Ah, well that decided it. "I'm not telling you," he said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Are you deaf, or something, Hermione?" he asked, smiling.

"Malfoy, this is—"

He got up suddenly. So suddenly, in fact, that he didn't notice that she had been leaning forward in order to get an answer out of him. Her small face was mere inches away from his own face, and his body automatically stiffened at the close proximity. He ignored it, focusing on the image of Blaise for his strength and inspiration. In just a few seconds – seconds he couldn't undo or forestall – her scent rushed up, and he unleashed the breath he had been holding. He breathed it in – subtly. She smelled ... like something out of nature. Pure and clean, despite being in the same clothes for two days. His gaze dropped to her lips like they always did when he was close enough to her and her lips parted. He immediately looked up at her eyes, focusing on the golden flecks in them to calm himself. He realized how this ... current situation must be affecting her, given that she was temporarily infatuated with him and all, yet he didn't move.

"Hermione," he whispered, and he noticed how the wisps of hair framing her delicate face gently moved in sway to his breath.

"Y-yes," she murmured, her eyes darkening. _Shit_, he thought. She was taking it badly. She didn't even have enough strength to phrase it as a question.

He was indeed extremely heartless.

"Say my name," he urged softly. He desperately wanted to hear it. He had heard it once, perhaps twice, during the time when they were both at her father's...but there was no emotion in that. At least, if she said it now, his name would mean something coming from her – a promise of friendship, like how he said her name. He wanted it. He _needed _to hear this promise. How many friends had he pushed away in the past? How many of those same friends, in the past, couldn't bring themselves to utter his name for fear of commitment to a friendship they knew wouldn't stand on its feet for long? Yet, even though he had changed somewhat, he still had doubt in himself and the ability to keep friends – however few – near.

She closed her eyes, bowing her head only to a certain extent so as not to touch his. His will slowly crumbled as he lost sight of that pure gold in her eyes...and he let out a sigh.

"Why do you toy with me, Malfoy?" she murmured.

Was that what she thought? He clenched his fists in self-anger. He was about to answer, when they both heard a voice.

"Well, well, well. Isn't _this_ interesting?"

--------------------------------------------------------to be continued--------------------------------------------------------

_**A/**_**N: a HA-UGE thank you to all those who are reviewing! I love you =) And to those who aren't and are just reading the story – hope you're liking it. If not, sorry! Personally, I'm not a fan of cliff-hangers, so...kill me if you want ...**

**Thanks, anyway ... hope you liked this one.**

Oh, and if you were confused, this is how the beds are arranged (two lines represent one bed):

__________

__________

__________

_____H____ --- This is where Hermione is sitting

_____D____ --- This is where Draco is sitting.

__________

__________

__________

Remember that Draco had merged all the beds...so they're (Hermione and Draco) sitting cross-legged. Sorry, just had to create this picture for you!


	22. Jump

_**A/**_**N: So it's been, what, a year since I've last updated? Real sorry about that! School is driving me up the wall!**

Previously:

_She closed her eyes, bowing her head only to a certain extent so as not to touch his. His will slowly crumbled as he lost sight of that pure gold in her eyes...and he let out a sigh._

_"Why do you toy with me, Malfoy?" she murmured._

_Was that what she thought? He clenched his fists in self-anger. He was about to answer, when they both heard a voice._

_"Well, well, well. Isn't__this__interesting?"_

--------------------------------------------------------------JUMP----------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione whipped her head around, her face feeling cold. _What had just happened?_ she couldn't help thinking, but she pushed the thought away. The petite figure at the doorway had a wicked grin sporting her features, and her eyes twinkled mischievously. Yes, Hermione was definitely doomed now. She could still feel Malfoy next to her, and his extremely close proximity to her was muffling her thoughts. She leaned away from him, trying to stare at the person in the doorway with a degree of hardness.

"What do you want, Greengrass?" came Malfoy's resigned sigh.

Daphne sidled into the room, shutting the door behind her. "Draco, Draco, Draco," she said mockingly, "I should have known..."

She jumped onto the bed closest to the door, and Hermione had to turn right around – her back facing Malfoy – in order to see Daphne. The girl looked too awake for Hermione's comfort. She should have been swaying off to sleep by now... her eyes weren't even drifting shut! Hermione narrowed her eyes as suspicion crept through her system. "Who are you?" she demanded, her hand reaching towards her pocket.

She heard Malfoy sigh behind her, and Hermione stifled a shiver as his warm breath blew across her naked neck. "Hermione, we've just been through this," he said tiredly, and yet again she felt his warm words against her skin.

For her own safety, she reached up to undo her ponytail. Relief temporarily washed over her as she felt her hair covering her neck, like a barrier. She focused her attention on the Daphne-lookalike, and hesitated. Why was the girl looking over Hermione's shoulder with eyebrows raised in...amusement? Hermione shrugged it off. "She could be an impostor, Malfoy," she whispered, turning her head slightly to look over her shoulder.

"Yeah, standing right here," the Daphne-lookalike commented wryly.

Hermione turned back to look at her. "Who are you?" she asked again, this time her wand pointed right at her.

The Daphne-lookalike looked back at her blankly. She looked over Hermione's shoulder, and asked, "Is she serious?" Ah, she was talking to Malfoy. So, earlier, the two of them must have been engaging in silent communication.

"Unfortunately," came Malfoy's reply from her...hang on. Had he moved? Hermione turned her head slightly, and found out that Malfoy was now sitting on the bed furthest away from her. She disregarded the pang of uneasiness as she realized that he had probably realized that she was too close to him for comfort. "I got bombarded with countless of questions when I came in. She thought that I was Romilda Vane," Malfoy continued.

"You could have been," Hermione shot back. She turned back to face Daphne-lookalike. "Prove it," she commanded.

The girl looked back at her. "I don't have to prove anything," she said, sounding bored.

Why was she making it so hard? "_Prove_ it," Hermione repeated, gripping her wand tighter.

The Daphne-lookalike rolled her eyes. "Look, dude, if I was Romilda Vane – which, thank Merlin, I'm not – I wouldn't think about attacking you with Big Idiot over there," she said in a monotone, jerking her head in Malfoy's direction.

"The Daphne I know," Hermione began ("_Here we go," came Malfoy's dry comment)_ – "would be half-dead on her feet by now due to the character she's been given. Right now, you look completely awake, which is impossible given the current situation."

Daphne-lookalike raised her eyebrows. "Fine. Ask me a question, and I'll prove that I am who I say I am," she said.

Hermione thought. What could she ask that only she and Daphne would know about? Truth be told, she had hardly any interaction with Daphne to begin with...

"I'll ask it," Malfoy said, sounding as if he had just come up with a brilliant idea. Hermione shifted to the right, positioning herself against the headboard so that she could see both Malfoy and the Daphne-lookalike.

Malfoy's eyes flickered in her direction first, and they shined with such intense emotion that Hermione found it impossible to look away. His lips were curled up into a smirk. "Greengrass," he said, still looking at Hermione. Hermione licked her lips nervously. "What _confidential_ little thing did you tell me in my Common Room this afternoon?"

Hermione felt her eyes widen, and she wrenched her gaze away from Malfoy to look at the Daphne-lookalike.

The girl smirked at Hermione. "That _Hermione_ here is currently infatuated with you."

Hermione stopped breathing. She felt her eyes redden, and felt glad that her hair was covering them. She dared herself to look at Malfoy, but when she did, she found no give-away expression on his face. She couldn't even tell what he was thinking. He was still gazing at her rather intensely, but his mouth was still pulled up into a smirk. Was he deliberately torturing her?

"And how do you know this?" he asked the Daphne-lookalike conversationally, maintaining eye contact with Hermione.

And then Hermione heard the words she was dreading to hear. "She told me so herself," the girl finished off, the tone in her voice hinting at amusement.

An uncomfortable silence filled the room as Hermione and Malfoy continued to stare at each other. She still couldn't derive anything from his features; he had his mask back on. Her heart rate had picked up dramatically, and she wondered if the other two could hear it. At the precise moment that she clenched her teeth in frustration, Malfoy closed his eyes, and the spell was broken.

"Well, this is fun," Daphne – yes, Hermione _knew_ it was Daphne – commented.

Hermione dove into the deep end, trusting her instinct, "Well, of course I'm infatuated with him," she said, now looking at Daphne.

"Really," Daphne said, rolling her eyes.

"Yes, like I told you so yesterday, Daphne, it's the character that I'm playing that's acting out," Hermione said honestly. She could feel Malfoy's gaze on her, but she decided not to care. "I thought it was perfectly obvious."

"Uh huh," Daphne said. "Let's not have a big debate about this again, shall we? We already know who will win ... just like I did before."

Hermione's eyes widened. She desperately hoped that Daphne wouldn't bring up their debate. But, right now, Hermione wouldn't even put it passed her.

"What did you tell her before?" Malfoy asked, and Hermione could sense a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice.

"Look, Daphne," Hermione said, before Daphne could answer. "I was really worried about you."

"Surely, Granger, you could have changed the subject more subtly?" Daphne asked, grinning.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She heard Malfoy laugh quietly. "How did you get here without falling off to sleep all the way?" Hermione asked, disregarding his reaction.

"I fought it," Daphne said simply.

Hermione blinked. "You... you _fought_ it?" she asked, shocked.

"Yip."

"But how?" Hermione pressed.

"It's called determination, Granger," she said, rolling her eyes.

Hermione felt her mouth drop open.

"But that's impossible," Malfoy stated.

"Many things are said to be impossible, Malfoy, but you always get the odd case proving the opposite," Daphne said, looking down at her fingers. "Hmm, that sounded cool when I said that."

"But that means that if we're truly determined, we can reverse this whole situation?" Hermione asked.

"Of course not," Daphne replied evenly.

Hermione felt thoroughly confused. "But you just said—"

"I was lying," Daphne said, looking up at them both.

"Greengrass, stop messing around," Malfoy ordered, sounding irritated. "Get to the point."

"You know, for people who really want to 'reverse this whole situation', as Granger put it, neither one of you sound as if you care," Daphne said. She conjured a bottle of nail polish, and began painting her toenails a bright red.

"Get to the bloody point," Malfoy repeated, gritting his teeth.

"That Pinkle lady sorted it all out," Daphne said.

"Really?" Hermione asked, this time controlling her emotions.

"Absolutely," Daphne said, as she moved onto her next foot. "There was this meeting for the cast today, so Bl-Zabini sort of took me to Pinkle's office. Apparently, she had this huge mirror-like thing, where you just sort of walk through it, and it reverses all the magic that's been done to you over the past week. Pretty nifty, I think."

"Wow," Hermione said.

"Yeah, so seeing that I was asleep and stuff, Zabini sort of carried me through this thing—"

"How sweet," Malfoy said, smirking. Hermione figured it was a private joke, so she didn't interrupt.

Daphne glared at Malfoy. "—But when I got out the other side, I was still the same size, but not sleepy anymore."

"Why didn't you go back to your normal size?" Hermione asked, frowning.

Daphne shook her head. "Honestly, and I thought you were smart."

"_I_ don't even get it, Greengrass, so obviously you're not explaining properly," Malfoy said.

Daphne cocked an eyebrow. "You two have been seriously occupied this past week," she said in a low voice. "Don't you recall that the ball chose the actors and singers last week?" Hermione and Malfoy didn't nod, but Daphne continued. "Well, the day after that day marks exactly a week ago. And since our sizes changed on the day of the choosing, and all the other _special effects_ came after that day, our sizes didn't change."

Hermione's eyes widened as she realized something. She turned to Malfoy to say something at the exact moment he opened his mouth.

"Hermione—"

"Mafoy—"

"Do you know what this means?" they asked together.

"Well, isn't this simply the cutest thing," Daphne commented sarcastically. "What are you two getting at?"

Malfoy turned to face Daphne. "_Our _effects only started happening the day after we were chosen, which means that if we were to go through that device you just described to us, _everything_ would be reversed."

Hermione had first felt excited, but now she felt something else. She felt strange and cold. Malfoy was evidently happy about the solution to the problem, but ... she didn't think she was. "Daphne," she said, her voice sounding soft, "did Romilda go?"

Daphne looked at her, this time her expression was something close to...warmth. "From what I've heard, no. Sorry, Granger," she added uncomfortably. Hermione heard Malfoy's sharp intake of breath. She turned to face him.

"Now what?" she asked miserably. He merely looked at her, his mouth set in a straight line. "I can't even go back. Do you honestly think Romilda would turn herself in? Especially when she thinks she's so powerful?"

"Hermione..." Malfoy said softly, and Hermione felt something weird pass through her. Her name sounded different coming from him – as if he was speaking in a foreign language. His voice soothed her, and she closed her eyes. She heard the beds creak loudly and she assumed he was crawling across the beds towards her. She opened her eyes when she could smell his naturally calming scent. He was on the next bed.

"I'll go with you," he offered quietly. He hadn't come extremely close to her – Hermione knew he was still dealing with his issues, but he still felt close enough to take comfort in. She looked at him silently, not wanting to say anything. His silvery eyes burned with a rich intensity. They held promises. Promises of what, she didn't know, but at that moment, she knew that he had meant what he had said.

"God, you can _sense_ the sexual tension in this room. Ew," Daphne said, and she raced out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Hermione looked away from him, feeling uncomfortable. Even though Daphne had unveiled the truth about Hermione's emotions, and even though Hermione had admitted them herself, she still felt uncomfortable.

"Malfoy," she started softly. She was going to clarify herself.

"Hermione," Malfoy whispered. Hermione could feel his gaze on her, so she forced herself to meet it. He was somehow closer to her, but she tried to ignore it. He wasn't helping the situation.

"Yes?"

His eyes turned pleading. "Please...just say my name..."

Hermione stared at him for a few moments, scanning his features. "Why is it so important to you?" she asked.

"It just is," he said quietly.

"Tell me why," she urged.

"Because ... it's like a promise of friendship."

"Friendship," Hermione repeated, and she felt as if a heavy rock had just been dropped into the pit of her stomach. She was willing to accept this feeling of infatuation, because she knew it would pass once the spell of the fairytale was lifted...but why couldn't he?

"You're lying to yourself," she said softly, trying to read his face.

His eyes suddenly hardened. "Why do you say that?"

"Because..."Hermione trailed off, wondering if she was going to regret what she was about to say. She breathed in deeply, tasting his scent, and barrelled on. "Because you feel the same way."

There. It was out there. In the open.

-----------

Draco held his breath, and felt his body go rigid. Why did she say that? Why? He looked away from her, hating the fact that when she looked at him, it felt as if she saw right through him; hating the fact that he relied on the golden flecks to calm him down; hating the fact that she bore her soul in her eyes, even though she tried to cover it up – hating the fact that he liked those unique eyes of hers.

"You can't know that," he decided on saying. The sun was setting outside, and he could see the fiery hue embracing the sky.

"Are you denying it?" she asked, a slight quiver in her voice.

He couldn't believe that she was taking his advice. She was diving into the deep. How could she know that he would be her lifejacket? The problem lay therein, though. She didn't need a lifejacket. She was too brave for her own good.

He looked at her, then. "Do you know what you're saying, Hermione?"

Of course he felt something for her. But that was a friendly feeling, wasn't it? Of course he liked her, just as one friend would like another. The feeling he felt when he was near her was beginning to get addictive. He had to be near her, just because he felt so ... peaceful. Even if she didn't say anything to him, didn't acknowledge him, just one look at her and everything would be alright.

That's why he was glad they were friends. Friendship, given a chance, was marvellous.

"Yes," came her soft reply.

He closed his eyes, even though he was still facing her. "Hermione," he said slowly. "I don't see us anything more than friends."

"Open your eyes," she said quietly.

He didn't want to, afraid of what she might see there, but there was something in her voice that made him.

"You're lying," she stated, a soft smile on her lips. Draco's gaze dropped to her lips, and against his will, he admired the way they curved perfectly into a smile.

"I assure you, I'm not," he insisted.

"Your eyes...for once...I can understand them," she said.

" 'For once?' Hardly," he disagreed. "You understand me better than I would have hoped for."

She remained silent, and Draco briefly wondered whether he had hurt her. Greengrass had told him earlier to test Granger to see if her feelings were genuine or not. But how could he? She only liked him because of the fairytale. Why would she like him otherwise?

Why did he even care if her feelings were genuine or not? Why did he care, full stop?

"Even if you don't see me that way now, Malfoy," she said quietly, "you will begin to."

She sounded almost sad when she said it, and brief irritation coursed through his system. Why did he upset her?

"How do you know that?"

"Because in the fairytale, it's the Prince who falls for Snow White first."

He didn't know how to respond. He didn't know whether he should respond. She wasn't looking at him anymore. He wondered why she was so concerned in the first place. What did it matter if he liked her or didn't? Was it to make herself feel less alone? Or did she genuinely want to know?

"Hermione...I'm not good with emotion...I don't just become infatuated with people."

"Malfoy, I have no idea what you are afraid of. Why don't you ever take your own advice? Why don't you jump into the deep-end yourself?" her soft voice had a challenging note to it that triggered something in Draco.

He sat up suddenly. He wanted to stand, but he couldn't. He looked at her. "I'm not you, Hermione. I can't jump into the deep. I told you that because I know that you're capable of doing it. You have the...the _strength_ to do it. I hate admitting that I have faults, but I know that I have many." He took a deep breath. Her eyes were wide, but other that, she showed no other emotion. "I am emotionally weak, Hermione. I lack the ... courage to get into any type of commitment. The friendship that we share...that was hard for me to get into. I don't _want _to see it as anything else, because if it is...I would have lost the friendship."

He didn't know what made him say all of that, but he had anyway. She seemed to hesitate at first, but then nodded. "Friendship is the basis of everything, Malfoy," she murmured.

"I know...I've begun to realize that."

"We don't really know what's going to happen after this fairytale spell is lifted. We don't know whether we're still going to behave like this towards each other or not—" Something akin to fear wrapped its claws around Draco. He hadn't thought about it like that. "—I don't know why, but I know that you feel something for me...By now, you must ... Maybe you don't realize it yet." She shook her head slightly. "I want this to be over, Malfoy, as much as you do, but honestly? I don't know what's going to happen after."

Draco regarded her for a second. He took in a deep breath. "What do you want?"

She looked up at him, and her lips twitched. "I don't know." She looked down again. Draco had never in his life seen her look so defeated.

The brutal honesty of her words threw him. He was expecting a more decisive answer, something that he could follow. But her answer left him in a puzzled position. Were they friends? Was there just one way to prove it? He thought that if he had to follow that way it would be too clichéd, too book-like, too unrealistic. But right now, he was living a fairytale, so anything could be real, right? He thought of Blaise, and what he would do if he was in Draco's situation. Draco nodded, fixing his resolve, and tensing his muscles. Blaise would do the same thing.

He leaned forward, taking extra care to breathe properly and force the rigidity away from his body. "Hermione," he said in a perfectly normal voice.

She looked up then, surprised that he was no longer whispering. She raised her eyebrows, and Draco surmised that she was further surprised that he had willingly moved himself closer to her.

"What?" she asked, a hint of boldness in her voice.

"I'm going to prove that we're just friends," Draco said seriously, still leaning in.

Comprehension dawned upon her, and he watched her slowly shake her head. "Malfoy, there are other ways..." she said in a soft gasp.

"Show them to me," he said, pausing a few inches away from her.

Her eyes darted all over the place, as she battled to find an answer. Worry flickered across her features as she realized that she had no answer. She moved backwards, so that she was right up against the headboard. She looked at him, her eyes beseeching. "I'm not a toy...an experiment, Malfoy," she said quietly.

That made him draw away from her. He looked at her seriously. "I don't... I _can't_ look at you that way, Hermione." She didn't say anything. "I'm doing this for the both of us."

She closed her eyes, sighing. Draco waited patiently. A few seconds later, she opened them. Licking her lips, she said, "...Fine."

Fine? Just 'fine'? Was she doing this against her will? He looked away from her, wondering if he was doing the right thing. Even if he wasn't...after this fairytale, her feelings for him would have disappeared, and she wouldn't even feel hurt. How did he feel about this? He returned his gaze back towards her.

Draco placed his hands on her bed, pulling himself forward. It was impossible for them both to be on the same bed simultaneously, so he stretched across from his side, so that he was a few inches away from her face. His body's weight rested on his hands and knees, and he moved forward again.

"I'm going to kiss you now, Hermione," he murmured, desperately reaching into the depths of her eyes for permission. He was so close he could see the pupils of her eyes dilate...that was permission enough. He took a deep, calming breath, noticing that his body was no more rigid. He leaned his forehead against hers, and closed his eyes. He knew how to kiss...he just didn't know how to kiss Hermione.

His heart rate had picked up, and he could feel the blood rushing to Hermione's face, to the place where their foreheads met. He clenched the duvet tightly, and opened his eyes at the same time. He drew his head away from hers slightly, angling his head. Her eyes were still open, but Draco couldn't look at them.

"You're concentrating too much. Just jump," she whispered, and Draco almost toppled over as he felt the warmth of her breath caress his lips. He couldn't stop himself. He closed his eyes, imagining hers, and placed a soft kiss on her lips. He drew away quickly, as the pounding of his heart became too unbearable. He couldn't do it. He couldn't kiss her. He was afraid.

"Hmm," was the sound she let out, sounding thoughtful.

Draco looked at her. "Meaning?" he murmured.

"I...thought I'd feel something..." she trailed off, and closed her eyes.

This was outrageous! What did all of this even _mean_? _She_ was the one who said that, yes, she was infatuated with him. _He_ was the one who said that, no, they were just friends. Yet, _she_ felt nothing for him during that – even though it wasn't a serious one – kiss, and _he_ did! He was starting to get angry.

"You're telling me that you didn't feel anything?" he asked, trying to keep his tone level.

"No..." she said, her eyes still closed.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "And you're _happy_ about that?"

She didn't say anything. She didn't have to. He clenched his jaw. "I'll show you happiness," he promised.

He let himself drop from the position he was in, at the same time grasping the sides of her face, so that now they were lying next to each other. Her eyes shot open, and she gasped. "What the hell—"

He pulled her face towards his, none too gently, and brought his lips to meet his. He didn't concentrate; he didn't even think. He kissed her with such passion that he felt as if he could explode. He threw everything into that kiss: his anger, his frustration, his confusion. He slowly began to realize that she wasn't really responding. He opened his eyes – when had he even closed them? – and met her chocolate-y orbs. He stared at her intensely, forgetting about the kiss. As the violence of the kiss slowly faded, replaced with his sadness and longing, he looked away.

And then she responded.

When he looked back, her eyes were closed, but Merlin, was she responding! She melted away the sadness and bitter-sweetness of the kiss, and kissed him. He suppressed the urge to moan – the pain of his heart hammering against his chest threw him. He ran his hand threw her soft, soft hair, and fisted it around a bunch of curls, badly trying to not hurt her. He felt the blood race through his body, planting footprints of fire behind. This was not anything like magic. Far from it.

It was on a different level of its own. He felt _alive_.

He felt her tongue slide across his lower lip, and he immediately withdrew. He felt too confused at the clash of pain and excitement. Too confused. He stared at her; her eyes were wide open, staring at him accusingly, as if he'd done something wrong.

He had. He shouldn't have even tested their friendship. She was right – there _were_ probably other ways of doing it, yet why did he have to kiss her?

Because, deep down, it was what he wanted. An excuse to secure a magical connection. An excuse to feel an adrenaline rush.

An excuse to prove himself wrong. Her bold red lips were swollen from the violence of their kiss, and Draco was both disheartened and glad that he hadn't furthered the kiss. It would've resulted in his undoing.

No. He had been a fool all along. Friends definitely didn't think of each other in the way he thought of her! Of course not!

Draco felt as if his whole body had melted, leaving behind his beating heart. He moved quickly away from Hermione, hating the fact that her eyes tightened in chagrin. She probably thought it was her fault. That she had forced him into it.

He got up from the beds, glancing over his shoulder at her. "I must go," he muttered, trying to keep his emotions at bay.

Bent, he strode towards the door. Just before he exited, he thought he heard her murmur, "Draco..."

--------------------------------------------------------to be continued--------------------------------------------------------

**Your thoughts?**


	23. Unintentional

_Previously:_

_Draco felt as if his whole body had melted, leaving behind his beating heart. He moved quickly away from Hermione, hating the fact that her eyes tightened in chagrin. She probably thought it was her fault. That she had forced him into it. _

_He got up from the beds, glancing over his shoulder at her. "I must go," he muttered, trying to keep his emotions at bay._

_Bent, he strode towards the door. Just before he exited, he thought he heard her murmur, "Draco..."_

-------------------------------------------------------UNINTENTIONAL--------------------------------------------------------

Hermione stared in shock and chagrin as she heard the front door slam shut. The _bang!_ sounded amplified to Hermione, a sound deliberately emphasizing the magnitude of her befuddled emotions. Her lips were still throbbing, but in a good way. This kind of pain felt good, but the aftermath...once the contact had been severed...the pain was on another level entirely. She refused to cry, though. She stared at the ceiling, trying to create patterns out of its plain whiteness. Her hands crumpled the duvet, and she squeezed it hard, as if it was a pain reliever – like the times when her mother or father would pull one of her teeth out. "Here, honey," her mother had said, handing her a towel. "Hold this tightly."

Just as she started seeing dots in the ceiling, she heard Daphne say crossly, "Okay, what the _hell_ just happened?"

"I've no idea what you are talking about," Hermione murmured. The words felt raw, as if she hadn't spoken in a while.

"I'm sick of these denial games you like playing, Granger," Daphne spat. "Tell me the bloody truth."

Ah, the dots had split. "Nothing," she said.

Daphne marched up to her. "Tell me now," she ordered.

Hermione sighed. She looked at Daphne and when she did, Daphne's gaze dropped to her lips. Hermione immediately looked away, but it was too late. "You..._kissed_?" Daphne asked, sounding horrified.

Hermione didn't say anything.

"How could you _kiss _him?" Daphne accused.

Hermione looked sharply at Daphne. "_He_ kissed _me_," she said scathingly.

Daphne's eyebrows shot up. For once in her life, she was speechless. "_Malfoy_ kissed you?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "And you know what he did after?"

Daphne blinked, her eyes brimming with curiosity.

"He _left_," she muttered, gritting her teeth. "Simply broke off the bloody kiss, and left. Didn't even _stop_ when I called him. And I even used his bloody _name!"_

Daphne opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it, as if Hermione's abrupt sentences were too confusing.

Hermione laughed humourlessly. "Turns out he didn't want me to say his bloody name after all. Bloody idiot."

"So I guess you're pretty angry, huh?" Daphne said, rolling her eyes.

Hermione stabbed her finger at the air. "_Anger_ is not the word I'd use...Livid..._furious..."_

Daphne raised her eyebrows, surprised. "Why did he do it?"

"He wanted to prove that we were _friends_, and that his feelings were purely _friendly_." Hermione made a face, mocking the statement.

"And are they?" came Daphne's question.

Hermione threw her heads into the air. "_I _don't know!" she cried.

"Mm hm," she said.

Hermione blinked, feeling her eyes water. "I... cry when I'm angry," she said defensively, her voice suddenly turning wobbly.

Something akin to sympathy lingered on Daphne's features. "No, Granger, I've seen you when you're angry. Your voice gets high-pitched, your ears turn red, and your hands shake...you don't cry," she said softly.

Hermione brushed away the stupid tears before they could burn a path down her face. She tried to square her shoulders, but the action required too much of effort that her shoulders just slumped forward. "How can I let a stupid boy affect me like this?" she asked desperately, staring at Daphne as if she expected the answer to just pop out of thin air.

Daphne approached her slowly. "Don't hate me for saying this," she warned. "But it's because you care."

Hermione felt like rolling her eyes. "I _know_," she said, wiping another tear away from her eye.

"Then why did you ask?" Daphne said.

Hermione sighed. "This is a fairytale, right? All of this? It will go away after, right?" she fired, her questions not answering Daphne's question.

Daphne shrugged. "I don't know, Granger...Honestly? I still feel the same...just not so sleepy anymore."

Hermione felt something close to hope. "But my character is supposed to fall in love with Malfoy's. So if the spell is reversed, then perhaps I won't feel like this anymore..."

"Why do you sound so hopeful, Granger?" Daphne asked, tilting her head, analyzing Hermione.

Hermione gazed out of the window, taking a few seconds to formulate a reply. "Because..." she said after a while, "It hurts feeling like this."

"Like what?"

"As if...a bubble just popped," Hermione murmured. "You know, there's this Muggle product...bubbles...you blow through this hole and this bubble forms. It sort of floats around and then pops...and whenever that happened, I used to feel so sad...the other children found it quite amusing though..."

"Granger, I don't find your situation amusing at all," Daphne offered.

A small smile lifted the corners of Hermione's lips. "You caught on," she said softly.

"I'm not completely daft, Granger," Daphne said, sounding irritated. "I get that you think everybody would probably laugh at you if they knew what you were going through. Please."

"I've just always lived in a bubble, Daphne. Like you said, I never really lived life. And then Malfoy came along...and made me feel things I hadn't ever felt before...Not for Victor...not for Ronald."

Daphne said, "Granger, you can't go around feeling sorry for yourself. That's lame."

"Yes, I know that," Hermione replied.

"So pull yourself together, woman," Daphne ordered.

"How?"

"Concentrate on the good things in your life...the things that make you happy," Daphne suggested. When Hermione didn't respond to her, Daphne went on, "Like for me, when I'm feeling seriously drained, or lack ambition, whatever...I focus on something that makes me happy. Just think of it this way, alright: imagine your life is like a Dementor...and you gotta think about happy thoughts to defend yourself. Don't let self-pity affect you, Granger. You're not like that."

Hermione took a moment to process this. "Since when did you become so philosophical, Daphne?"

"I have my moments," Daphne sniffed, sticking her chin in the air. Yet Hermione could spot the tiniest of sparkles in Daphne's eyes. Hermione smiled a small smile.

This time Hermione was able to square her shoulders. She stared at the ceiling, noticing that she couldn't see anymore dots; just the ceiling. "You're right," she stated.

"I know I am," Daphne replied self-assuredly.

"I'm not a self-pity kind of person. If I'm angry, I'll be angry. If I'm sad, then I'll be sad. If I'm happy, then I'll be bloody happy," she said, confidence inching into her voice.

"That's the spirit," Daphne encouraged.

Hermione breathed in deeply.

"So what _are_ you feeling?" Daphne asked after a while.

Hermione turned to face her. "Honestly? I haven't the faintest. But you know what?"

Daphne jerked her head upwards in a "what?" motion.

Hermione stood up, bending so as not to touch the ceiling. "I don't feel like hiding anymore. I'm going out to face that witch."

"I could have used a better synonym," Daphne muttered.

Hermione rolled her eyes, glad that the teas had disappeared. She approached the door, but before she walked out, she said, "And...thank you."

Daphne waved a hand. "I don't like those words," she said not unkindly. "Expressing gratitude and expressing an apology are two of my least favourite things."

"Well, you were the one who knocked a bit of sense into my head," Hermione said, smiling slightly.

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Trust me, honey. You would have gotten there without my help."

Hermione shook her head in wonder. Daphne was a wonder, truly. Hermione opened her mouth, and then closed it, thinking better of it. But Daphne seemed to know what she was about to say. "You're welcome," she said through her teeth.

"Baby steps," Hermione said. She walked (stooped) out of the door and once she had gathered her few items, she left the cottage.

"I should become a motivational speaker," Daphne mused as she heard Granger leave. She was about to kick off her shoes and lie down, when she heard Granger come back.

Daphne walked into the lounge. "What?"

"I don't know how to get there," Granger admitted.

"Boo hoo," Daphne muttered.

"Could you take me please?"

Daphne's lips straightened into a thin line. She pointed at Granger. "Now, see? Those are the other two things I hate: the word 'please', and me helping."

"Daphne, don't you want me out of this place?" Granger asked, gesturing around the cottage.

Daphne regarded her. "You know, you've actually grown on me, I think," she said.

"Daphne..."

Daphne made a huge effort to sigh. "Fine," she drew out. She summoned her coat, and walked in front of Granger. "Let's go."

"Thank you."

Daphne gritted her teeth.

---

Draco flew back to the castle, his anger propelling him forward. "Stupid idiot," he muttered, his words quickly getting lost in the wind. How could he have done that? Hurt her like that? Merlin, if he had let that kiss continue, who knows what he would have done? What he would have _said_? If he had told Hermione that, yes, he did feel something more intimate for her, she might have responded too positively. Then what would have happened after everything would be reversed? They would still have their memories...memories weren't erased.

Determination set in. He was going to go to Professor Pinkle. He was going to get turned back into who he used to be. And then...hopefully, all of this would fade away, like smoke. Then Hermione would know..._he_ would know...that these emotions the fairytale had created. If he and Hermione hadn't been forced together by this fairytale...they mightn't have felt like this. Correct that: they would have _never_ felt like this.

Something twisted in Draco's stomach, but he passed it off for a stitch.

A while later, he realized that it wasn't a stitch, but a reaction to what he had just thought.

Draco leaned forward as he began his descent. But...didn't things happen before the fairytale took effect? Wasn't it Hermione who had helped him? Wasn't it Hermione who led him down the right paths? But what he had felt before the fairytale was friendly, nothing else.

_Friendly_. There was that word again. Draco felt as if had lost the true meaning of that word. He had been delusional when it had come to this 'friendship' he shared with Hermione.

Shaking off these disturbing thoughts, he landed gracefully on the grass. Clutching his broomstick in one hand, he walked at a brisk pace down the passageways in the school. He ascended the various staircases, nodding at younger students who acknowledged them.

Roughly five minutes later, he found himself knocking on Professor Pinkle's magenta-coloured door. The door opened almost immediately, and Draco walked into the room, not bothering to glance around.

"Ah!" Professor Pinkle exclaimed, beaming. "You arrived!"

Well, obviously.

He cleared his throat. "I apologize for missing the meeting, Professor."

The woman waved a hand in the air. "No problem at _all_. Come, come," she said, ushering him forward. "Now, most of the cast have gone through this process. Just a few are yet to come."

"Professor," Draco said, "If you don't mind me asking...who are these people?"

"You, Miss Granger, and Miss Vane."

Draco felt as if the room was moving. Holding a finger to his temple, he asked, "Why don't you send for them, Professor?"

"They will come in due time. Don't you worry, Mr Malfoy!" she laughed.

Draco clenched his jaw, following the professor to what appeared to look like a mirror. He stared at his reflection, noticing that his lips looked rather swollen...a brutal reminder of what had just transpired a few moments ago. He couldn't look into the bright silver of his eyes; they looked too accusatory – as if he'd done something inexcusable.

He turned to face the professor. "I just walk through it?" he asked, just to make sure.

"Absolutely," she said, smiling widely.

"And _everything_ will be reversed?"

"Absolutely," she repeated with the same enthusiasm.

Draco breathed in and out, closing his eyes. He was doing the right thing. He was doing the right thing. He was doing the right thing...

He opened his eyes, feeling as if he was being watched. He turned around quickly, yet the only thing behind him was the open doorway. He turned back to the mirror, rubbing his hands nervously together. "No pain, right?" he asked. He'd already been through too much.

He thought he heard a girlish snigger from behind him. He whipped his head around again, but still couldn't see anything.

"None at all, Mr Malfoy," the professor said, looking amused.

"Okay, then," he said. He took a step forward towards the mirror, refusing to look at his reflection. He ignored the feeling of being watched, passing it off as a figment of his imagination. Another step. Another. He placed his foot into the mirror, and shivered as a cool sensation pass over his foot. He decided that the quicker he did this, the less he'd feel. He pulled himself into the mirror, looking up into the mirror at the last minute, noticing a too familiar-looking girl staring maliciously at him from the doorway.

Draco tried to stop himself but it was too late. He had already passed his body through this mirror-like magical device. Not caring about himself or Professor Pinkle's exclamation of "Brilliant!" he hurried towards the door, but the girl was gone. He turned around to look at the mirror again. His features still looked the same, yet he was back to his old self.

Funny. He could have sworn he had just seen Romilda Vane...

---

Following Daphne, Hermione walked forward, her wand thrust out in front of her.

"Yeah, we're almost there," Daphne said over her shoulder, sounding bored.

"Good," Hermione said.

"Uh huh, whatever," Daphne said.

Hermione looked down at Daphne, wondering if it was a Slytherin thing to act as if you didn't care. "So when will you grow back?" Hermione asked.

"No idea."

Hermione blinked. "Didn't you ask?"

"Someone asked, but I wasn't listening."

Hermione thought it best not to respond, knowing that Daphne wouldn't appreciate her thoughts.

"So what's your plan of action, Granger?"

"I'm going to get this spell lifted," Hermione replied.

"I thought you were going to face Vane?"

"If it comes to that...yes. But if this spell is reversed, then Romilda wouldn't want to kill me, because I won't be Snow White anymore."

"Ah...that makes sense, I suppose," Daphne said, sounding disappointed.

"You were hoping for a fight?" Hermione asked, trying to keep the amusement out of her voice.

"Absolutely," Daphne said.

Hermione smiled. "Hey Daphne," she said after a while.

"Mm?"

"Do you think you'd ever want to do this again?"

"Do _what_ again, Granger?"

"This. You're quite likeable, actually," Hermione said.

"I don't do the whole friendship thing, Granger. Sorry."

"Consider it," Hermione suggested.

Daphne shrugged her shoulders, now increasing the pace, so that Hermione had to quicken her pace, too. Less than ten silent minutes later, Hermione could see the castle. "Oh," she gasped. "How I've missed this!"

Happiness filled her heart. She flicked her wand, Summoning her bags from Hagrid's cabin. Thankfully, Hagrid wasn't in his cabin. He was probably out in the Forbidden Forest collecting things for his classes tomorrow. Hermione let her bags float in the air next to her as she made her way up to the castle, Daphne now at her side.

When they came to the foot of the main staircase, Daphne turned to look at Hermione. "Go to Professor Pinkle's office."

Hermione nodded. "Where will you go?"

"Slytherin dungeons," Daphne replied, smiling slightly.

Hermione nodded again. "See you around, Daphne," she said softly.

"Likewise, Granger," Daphne said, dipping her head in classic country-western style. She sped off in the direction of the Slytherin dungeons, and Hermione followed her with her eyes until the girl disappeared out of eyesight.

Shaking her head, Hermione made her way up the staircase. She paused when she felt someone looking at her. She looked around, not noticing anything. She continued up the stairs, and walked towards the Head Tower so that she could leave all her bags. She could still feel as if someone was watching her, but she ignored it. Just before she was about to ascend another staircase – the staircase that took her directly to the Head Tower – she heard a yell behind her, _"Petrificus Totalus!"_

Hermione didn't even have time to respond. She heard her bags and wand drop to the floor, and she fell backward. The only things she could move were her eyes, and she rolled them around and around trying to find her attacker. A shadow fell over her, and she looked up into the smirking face of Romilda Vane.

"Hello, Hermione," the girl said mock-sweetly. She bent to pick up Hermione's wand, and Hermione felt like crying out. If she'd had the wand with her, she could have performed a non-verbal spell! She glared at Romilda, but the girl just looked innocently back at her.

Romilda looked around them. "You know, it would be better if we were in a non-exclusive place, but what I have to...do...shall be quick," she said, her eyes glinting.

She knelt down so that she was right next to Hermione. "I'm sorry, Granger, but the school needs to know that _I_ am the most beautiful girl here...not you."

She reached into her bag to bring something out, and Hermione felt like laughing and screaming at the same time. The girl pulled out an apple – shiny and juicy-looking. Romilda didn't even know how predictable her actions were! Hermione silently cursed. If only she had her wand!

"You're going to eat this, Granger," Romilda said, holding up the apple. "No, no," she laughed, looking at Hermione's angry, defiant expression. "You have no choice, darling. And your Prince Charming won't be able to kiss you better. You see, he's already been through the mirror." She laughed.

Dread filled Hermione. Romilda couldn't possibly kill her, right?

Wrong.

Romilda pointed her wand at Hermione's face. "_Imperio_," she whispered. Hermione felt her resolve slip. All her mental strength seeped from her body, and she battled to hold on to it. "Eat the apple, Granger," Romilda ordered.

Hermione couldn't move...she was spell-bound by two spells. Romilda seemed to realize this as well. She waved her wand, and Hermione felt the air turn crisp around her. She battled to overcome the force driving her to eat the apple, but she crumbled. She dropped to the floor, snatching the apple from Romilda. Romilda smirked.

She sunk her teeth into the apple. She focused on the sweetness of the apple, instead of the bitterness she knew was about to come. Pain gripped her system – _what kind of potion was in this?_ – and she screamed.

"Shut up!" Romilda ordered, her face turning into a mask of shock.

Hermione was forced to close her mouth, but she squeezed her eyes shut as the pain failed to go away.

"Merlin, what's happening! Shit! This wasn't meant to happen! " she heard Romilda whisper frantically.

Hermione's body started to convulse. Her head slammed against the wall, and Hermione clenched her fists as she felt the pain increase.

"Stop! Stop!" She heard Romilda cry. Romilda was shaking Hermione's body, as if that would stop her from shaking.

Yet whatever substance was in the apple was too powerful; it overrode the Imperius Curse, and slowly and painfully started to claim Hermione's senses. Her eyes drifted shut.

"HELP!!" she heard Romilda yell. Her cries for help went on and on...a constant echo that failed to stop.

Just when the pain reached its peak, everything seemed to stop. The last thing Hermione felt were a pair of cool hands on her face before she was thrust into unconsciousness.

--------------------------------------------------------to be continued--------------------------------------------------------

_**A/**_**N: Sorry it was kind of a short chapter...But tell me what you think, please : ) I promise... We're almost there...**


	24. Nothing

_**A/**_**N: No, I haven't died. I will give you all my pathetic excuses at the end ...**

**-**NOTHING-

DRACO'S POV

About a year ago, a couple of months before Voldemort had been defeated, he used to temporarily occupy residence at The Manor. On many nights, when I was supposed to be studying Aunt Bellatrix's Dark techniques, I would hear disturbing noises that drifted quite clearly through my bedroom door. At the time, it was obvious to me that some stupid wizard or witch was trying their luck with Voldemort – attempting to not betray any useful information. I say stupid, because this act inevitably resulted in that person's death. Yet, the sound of struggle as that person physically resisted against one of Voldemort's minions became too familiar – so much so that there came a point when I would block off the noise. Blocking off the acidic feeling that dripped through my body was even harder though.

Imagine how shocked I was when I heard a similar type of struggle as I made my way to the Heads' Tower. My body tensed automatically as horrible memories rushed forth to greet me. I clenched my teeth, trying to drive away these memories; instead I picked up my pace to a fast run and sprinted in the direction of the noise. Going through that mirror had not altered my physique, thankfully, so I was still able to run quite quickly.

I came to a stop, breathing heavily. What I saw made me want to kick the pillar next to me. On the floor, wrestling and grunting like idiots was two second-year Hufflepuff boys. All that wasted energy spent on running...

I waved my wand, my frustration making the movement slightly static, and the two boys sprung apart, their backs hitting the wall they collided against. I didn't bother with arranging my facial expression into a stern, 'Head Boy' look. I looked down at the boys who hadn't even bothered to get up from the floor; they were scowling menacingly at each other.

"Twenty points apiece deducted from Hufflepuff as a result of unethical conduct in the corridors," I barked at them. The fact that they had just cost their house forty points didn't seem to affect them. Their scowls pulled down their eyebrows and their hands were fisted at their sides in rage.

The one – a black-haired boy – pointed at the other. "But _he_ started it!" he yelled.

The other boy – a blonde, scrawny one – looked outraged, his eyes bulging. "_I _started it? _You_ were the one who started it! _I _had only –"

I closed my eyes briefly, hating the sound of their whiny bickering. "Enough," I said quietly, knowing that my voice carried authority. The two shut their mouths, turning their bodies toward me, their heads bowed. "A further ten points deducted for disobedience," I said. I really was in a horrible mood.

The two raised their heads to look at me, expressions of indignation apparent on their faces. "But that's _fifty_ whole points!" the blonde boy yelled.

I narrowed my eyes. "Should we make it sixty?" I asked, getting irritated.

Blondie licked his lips. "No, but—"

His response was cut off as we heard a screech: "_HELP!_" It came from somewhere not too far from where we were. With my body alerted into action mode, I didn't even bother to look back as I raced down the corridor, abandoning the boys behind me. The corridor swerved to the left and then to the right, and I urged my feet to carry me faster as the cries for help went on and on.

Finally, I turned left into a straight stretch of corridor, and stopped dead. I heard the two boys' footsteps die as they came to stand next to me. "Woah," Blondie whispered, staring at the scene before us. My face felt flushed at the sudden burst of energy I had just used, yet I felt the heat quickly fade as I focused on the two girls who were situated not a few steps away from us. The one was on the floor, trembling violently, her face masked by the other girl's body. The latter was bending over the other girl, shaking her.

Shock glued my feet to the ground, and despite my mental efforts to move my feet forward, they just wouldn't.

Hearing Blondie, the kneeling girl turned around, her eyes wild, tears streaming down her face. My mouth went dry. Romilda Vane.

"Malfoy! Help me! Help me!" Vane cried, looking at me desperately.

The shock melted away as panic enveloped me. If this was Romilda Vane – and it definitely was her – then the other girl on the floor...I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise as the goose bumps popped out of my skin. I raced towards the two girls, slightly staggering. I knew who the girl on the floor was. I knew it before I could even see her face –

"What the _fuck_ did you do to her?" I yelled at Vane, pushing her roughly aside so that I could get clear access to Hermione. I didn't care that I had just cussed in front of a girl. The very fact that she had done something extremely life-threatening to Hermione didn't even make her a feminine being. "_Stupefy!"_ I shouted, pointing my wand at Vane, whilst I knelt down beside Hermione. I heard a dull thump as Vane landed several feet away. She wouldn't be out for long – my spell was weakened by my lack of concentration.

"_Hermione?" _I murmured quietly, my eyes scanning her features, hoping that she would wake up or even register the fact that I was here. I tried to kid myself that she was sleeping – having a horrible nightmare. I braced myself for her reply, feeling as if her eyes would open and her quivering would stop. I wanted her to get up and laugh at me, telling me that she played a trick on me.

Yet I felt scared. I felt helpless. I couldn't delude myself into silly fantasies. It was evident that she was definitely not sleeping. Her entire body was trembling – just like the night she heard about her mother's death. Her eyes were shut, and I could see her eyeballs rolling around under her eyelids. Sweat was falling down her face. At that moment, I didn't have to think twice about what it meant to touch a person. I didn't care what the word 'friend' meant. All I knew was that she needed something cold against her skin. I didn't care that I was stepping out of my comfort zone when I brushed the stray strands of hair off her face. I gasped when I felt the intense heat radiating off her skin as if she had been close to a fire. Her skin felt clammy, and it had never looked so pale.

I placed the back of my hands on her face, attempting to cool her down. "_Hermione,"_ I said louder. I was panicking, and only then did I notice how drastically my heartbeat had increased. I looked over my shoulder, noticing that the boys still hadn't left. "Go call Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey!" I shouted at them. They stood frozen, their gazes transfixed on Hermione's shuddering body. "_GO!_" I yelled louder. They took off, stumbling, shooting glances over their shoulders.

I didn't want to move Hermione, scared that her system might react badly to movement. I tried not to apply too much pressure as I patted her face with my cool hands, but the shock that was swallowing me hindered my efforts. The heat from her skin was taking the coolness away from mine, so I conjured a hand-towel and a bowl and yelled, "_Aguamenti!"_ pointing my wand at the bowl. The bowl filled with water, and I soaked the towel in it. Squeezing it, I dabbed Hermione's face frantically. I looked down at her, noticing that her body was convulsing less and less. The cold water must be helping then! I looked over my shoulder, thinking that I heard footsteps, but turned back to Hermione as I realised there weren't any. Where the _hell_ were McGonagall and Pomfrey?

"Hermione...wake up..." I urged over and over. I heard an awful sound, and looked around only to find bloody Vane. The witch had regained consciousness. She looked at me, with a frightened look in her eyes.

"Malfoy, are you...are you alright?" HerHHHHlknhvlHermioone3Herm Her she asked hesitantly.

The bloody well I'm alright! Vane had done Merlin knows _what_ to Hermione and she had the nerve to ask if I was alright!

"Only...you're crying," she nervously added.

So that was where the awful sound was coming from. Me.

I reached up to touch my cheek and found that it was wet. I ignored it. Hermione's body was hardly shaking anymore, and her skin no longer felt that hot. Yet, I still kept my hands there; I still dabbed her face with the towel. I looked over my shoulder again, wondering how much longer it would take for them to arrive.

I glared at Vane. "What did you do to her?" I asked in a low voice, deciding that Vane was not worth the energy to raise my voice for.

Vane's eyes turned pleading, and she edged toward me. I held up my wand, pointing it at her. "One more move closer to Hermione, Vane, and you'll regret it," I growled.

My fists clenched at the sight of Vane, and I almost snapped my wand. I looked at Hermione again, who was looking more peaceful now, and gained my strength and calm from her. I breathed in and out really slowly, holding Hermione's hand in mine as I did so. I should have predicted this. Why didn't I? I should never have left Hermione. I blamed myself. If I hadn't left her...

"Well?" I asked, not looking at Vane. She wasn't worth it. She was lucky Hermione was here; or else I would have mauled her to death.

"You _must_ understand, Malfoy, I _never_ meant for her to...for her to be like this!" I clenched my teeth and concentrated on Hermione's face: her flawless skin, her lips, her nose, her jawline...her closed eyes. "I gave her an apple that had a potion disguised in it," Vane continued, sounding scared. I closed my eyes, predicting the direction this conversation was going to take. "I put in a potion to make her look ug-ugly... so that I would be the most...beautiful...But this wasn't supposed to happen! _Why _is this happening?" She spoke in more rushed tones towards the end of her confession.

I didn't bother to reply. She didn't deserve any answers.

Hermione's hand was cooling down. I squeezed it gently, not knowing if she could feel it.

I heard footsteps this time, and I whipped my head around. "Over here, Professor!" I shouted, hoping that she and Madam Pomfrey would hurry faster.

They came to a stop behind me, and McGonagall gasped. Pomfrey's eyes widened and she hurried to my side, checking Hermione's vitals. I wanted to tell her not to touch Hermione, but I knew that that would be foolish. She knew what she was doing...right? McGonagall walked slowly towards me, her eyes never wavering from Hermione's body.

"What happened?"she asked quietly.

I narrowed my eyes, and I clenched my fists in anger. "You have Vane there to thank," I said harshly, jerking my head in the culprit's direction.

McGonagall's eyes widened. "But surely—"

"Minerva!" Pomfrey's shout came from my left.

I whipped my head around to face her. She looked shocked and scared. She was holding Hermione's left wrist in her hand. I looked at Hermione. She looked so serene.

"Minerva...she's dead," Pomfrey whispered.

Vane started to scream.

Something twisted inside me. Some horrible creature fisted its claw around my heart, and the pain I felt at those two words engulfed me. The emotion I felt became too overwhelming, and in a fit of insanity, I threw Pomfrey aside, attempting to get closer to Hermione. "_HERMIONE!"_ I screamed, bending down to her chest to listen for her heartbeat. I didn't waste time on wondering why it had taken me so long to express my anguish through a shout.

I couldn't hear her heartbeat. "_HERMIONE!_" I screamed louder. My body started to shake, and I felt McGonagall trying to pull me away. She was saying something. I couldn't hear her though. Everything around me dulled into a monotone, and the only thing I could hear was my own hitched breathing. How could I have missed it? How could I have missed her death? She was alive when I got here! She was breathing!

That means...that means that when I had felt her body cool down, when I saw her convulsions disappear...thos weren't signs of recovery; they were signs of –

"_Hermione_," I said, now hardly a whisper. I pulled her closer to me, bending over her, clutching her lifeless body to my own body. I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing in the scent of her hair. I trailed my fingers through her soft curls, and gave in to the tremors violently making their way through my body. I imagined a laughing Hermione; I imagined that this was all a dream – a nightmare; that none of this was real...

My eyes snapped open. I placed just enough distance between Hermione and I so that I could take a look at her face. I looked up at McGonagall, who was kneeling a foot away from me. Tears were slowly falling from her eyes, but she looked back at me, nonetheless. "Professor," I said, my voice feeling raw in my throat. "Professor, at the end of the fairytale...Prince Charming kisses Snow White..."

She merely looked at me, her eyes too full of sadness to say anything. I looked at Hermione again and lowered my head to place a kiss on her lips. Her lips weren't as warm as they used to be. I didn't receive a reaction. I couldn't hear her breathing. I couldn't feel the blood rush up to face.

I couldn't feel anything.

I drew away, biting my lip as I fought back a scream. There had been no flickers of life on her face. I kissed her again, this time applying more pressure.

Nothing.

Her eyes didn't open to reveal the spark in her brown eyes. I slumped, falling against the wall behind me. The kiss wouldn't work because I was no longer Prince Charming – I was sure of it. I thought back to the day I received the part of Prince Charming...Hermione had said that the kiss brings Snow White back to life because Prince Charming loved her. He was _in_ love with her. Maybe that was the other reason why Hermione wouldn't wake up! I'm not _in _love with her...I just like her enough to regard her as more than a friend...

My thoughts were spinning around in never-ending circles, and I felt more confused.

"Mr Malfoy," McGonagall said. "Not even magic can awaken the d-dead." She choked on the last word.

I felt as if iced water was running around in my body. Why the _hell_ would they make up stupid, senseless stories that didn't mean anything, then? Why stretch magic to such a degree that it can convince even us wizards of the impossible? Where is the bloody _purpose_ in such a story...in such a fairytale?

"No," I said quietly, burying my face in Hermione's hair. "She's not dead."

"Mr Malfoy –" McGonagall said again.

I looked up at her. "Professor, I can _feel_ it. She's not dead," I repeated. It didn't feel as if Hermione was dead. I was so sure that when someone died, someone really close to you, that you would feel it. When my mother and father were taken away, and I had known that I wouldn't see them for a long time, I felt it. It was possible to feel a loss – I was sure of it. And Hermione...although she looked it, she was _not_ dead. I would not believe that she had died.

McGonagall sighed. She probably thought I was going insane. "Mr Malfoy," she said slowly. "We need to take her down to the Infirmary. Madam Pomfrey needs to get Hermione's bod – _Hermione_ ready for her parents."

I hugged Hermione closer to my chest. "No," I said.

I didn't have to look up to know that Pomfrey and McGonagall had shared a look. "Mr Malfoy—" Pomfrey began.

I glared at her. "I said '_NO'!_" I shouted, feeling the blood rush up to my face. I looked down at Hermione again. "She can't be dead. You don't understand," I said.

"Mr Malfoy, she's not breathing," Madam Pomfrey said in what she perhaps thought was a kind voice.

I closed my eyes again, refusing to accept the finality in her words. "This is a _fairytale_, Madam Pomfrey. Hermione cannot be _killed_ by a mere fairytale...she cannot be killed..."

"Mr Malfoy—" McGonagall tried again.

"_No_," I said again, feeling something akin to hysteria race through my system. Still holding Hermione close to my body, I withdrew my wand pointing it at Vane who was crying quietly a good few feet away from us. "This is _her_ fault. She must _pay._ _Avada—"_

"_Expelliarmus!_" both McGonagall and Pomfrey cried out. The double force wrenched me away from Hermione and I fell to the floor. Staring at Hermione who was lying on the floor a few feet from where I was...I felt cold and alone. I started to crawl towards her, feeling too weak to get up but McGonagall held her hand up. "Leave, Mr Malfoy. Leave before you cause more harm."

I couldn't do that. All of this still felt so unreal to me.

Pomfrey pointed her wand at Hermione, muttered something, and Hermione rose into the air – hanging as if there was a rope attached to her from the ceiling. The sight of this looked so eerie, yet I couldn't look away. Hermione could not be dead. I remained adamant about that. Potions used to distort one's features could not _kill _a person.

McGonagall – grasping Vane's hand in hers – walked behind Pomfrey as they left with Hermione's body hovering in the air. Did they think I was a danger to them? Vane shot fearful looks over her shoulder at me, and she cowered into McGonagall's side. Shouldn't they be telling Vane to leave? She could try killing Hermione again!

But...in the version we had been given of the fairytale, the wicked step-mother shows some repentance towards the end. Could Vane be showing some repentance?

"No," I murmured to myself. Vane was still bad; she still had bad intentions. I would sort her out later, though. Right now, she was not a priority. I needed to be with Hermione.

I hurried to catch up with them. McGonagall, hearing me, turned around. "No, Mr Malfoy," she said, her voice weighted down by sadness. Vane, like a bloody coward, hid behind McGonagall.

I breathed in deeply, trying to be calm. "I apologise, Professor," I said quietly. "You have my wand; I won't hurt Vane." Without waiting for a reply, I walked passed her, and placed myself in front of Pomfrey, causing her to stop. I refused to look at Hermione's body hanging in midair next to her, but I couldn't help it. I fought for control.

Pomfrey, guessing what I wanted, sighed. She waved her wand, and I caught Hermione in my arms. She seemed so light, so fragile, so vulnerable. It looked as if she was sleeping. I pulled her against my chest, trying to give her not-so-warm body some warmth from mine. As I walked, following Pomfrey, I didn't look away from Hermione's face. I concentrated on every part of it once again, and I felt like kicking myself. The last time I had seen her – _alive –_ was when I had kissed her in the cottage and then, like an idiot, I left. I had hurt her. I hadn't even said a proper goodbye.

I deserved to be punished.

A tear fell from my eye and splashed onto her creased top.

Our silent journey to the Infirmary was short. Too short.

With heavy reluctance, I placed Hermione on the bed closest to Pomfrey's office. And as if we were back in the Common Room, I pulled the blankets over her body, ensuring that she wouldn't get too cold.

And then I waited. Merlin knows what for, but I waited. My thoughts continued to haunt me, and nothing would make them go away. I sat on the chair next to Hermione's bed, grateful that McGonagall let me stay behind. She had probably told Pomfrey that she thought that I was mentally unstable, but I didn't care. They could think whatever they felt like thinking, really.

I gently flipped Hermione's hand over and slowly traced the lines on her palm. Even in ...well, not death, surely, but something close to it ... her skin was still soft. I sighed. How could this be fixed? Who would know how to fix it? I racked my brain, mulling over and rejecting ideas. I focused my gaze on the sky, trying to absorb any ideas that were just hanging there for me to grasp. The dark blue hue of the night sky became lighter as dawn approached, and the stars ever so slowly blinked out of sight.

I looked back down at Hermione.

Nothing.

I pulled a hand through my hair, sighing. The only person who would know how to solve this problem would be the person who started this problem. I reluctantly got up from my seat, and murmured, hoping that she would hear me, "I'll be back." She would. I know she would.

I let go of her hand. Hating the fact that McGonagall still ha my wand with her, I approached the doors of the Infirmary. I forced myself not to look back, because if I had, I would have wanted to stay.

* * *

Hermione's PoV

I have witnessed Harry lose consciousness many times. Most of those times, if not all, had to do with his connection with Voldemort. A bystander wouldn't really notice, unless Harry had been previously standing, or unless they had already been watching him.

With me...Would people believe me if I told them that I had died? Would they believe me, I wonder, if I told them that Draco's kiss did, in actual fact, bring me back to life?

I have no idea what was in that apple that Romilda Vane had so predictably given me. I remember quite vividly the excruciating agony that I experienced; yet I only vaguely recall her screaming for help. After that moment, I don't think I could hear anything – everything is a blur after that. The last thing to register on my mind was the feeling of cold hands against my skin. They could have belonged to Romilda, they could have belonged to the person she was crying out for help to, they could have belonged to Peeves, for all I know.

And then I died.

That sounds rather arbitrary, and if I wasn't under the current situation, I would have laugh, too. I didn't go into the "light", or anything. It was more like a lightless vacuum of sorts; as if I was floating on thin air. The next thing I felt was a pair of lips covering my own. I stumbled hesitantly out of my vacuum, wondering what on earth was calling me back. The feeling was quite unnatural, and I felt like holding on to something so that I wouldn't go back. I am like that, you see. I resist.

The second time I felt the lips against mine, I couldn't be unsure anymore. They were Malfoy's – _Draco's_. There was something different about his lips that made them fairly unique and instantly recognisable. In this vacuum of mine I was blind, yet I was completely certain that it was Draco Malfoy kissing me.

I _had_ to go back, then. I wanted to tell him how angry I was with him. I wanted to tell him how much he didn't deserve the right to kiss me _again_. I wanted to yell at him for being callous. Therefore, I had to go back. No idiot alive would kiss me, leave, and then have the cheek to kiss me again when he _knew_ I couldn't respond.

So I went back, just to tell him all of these things, yet a wall went up. Just like that, and _bang!_ I collided hard with it. I got thrust back into my vacuum, yet this time, I became more alert of my surroundings. Merlin, I could _hear_ and _feel._

"_Not even magic can awaken the d-dead," I heard Professor McGonagall say. Wait, did she think I was _dead_?_

_I heard Malfoy's 'No' and felt him bury his face in my hair. How dare he! How dare he even _touch_ me like that! Bloody hell! Let me out of this place! I tried to penetrate the wall, but it slammed me back into the nothingness. I felt peeved. Couldn't they at least _check_ my pulse? Did the thought even occur to them? _

"_She's not dead," I heard Malfoy continue. Wait a second! He knew I wasn't dead? Then why was he not doing anything? _

_I heard Professor McGonagall stumble over a few words about having to take me to the Infirmary to get my body ready for my parents. Aaah! Did she not just hear what Malfoy said? I'm not dead. I did die, yes, but now I'm not dead. What were they going to do to me?_

_I couldn't fathom the reason why Malfoy held me closer to him. I felt like hitting him. Could he not read my body language? I didn't want him to touch me! Wait, was that...was that _sadness_ I heard in his voice? Why was he sad?_

_Not that I cared, or anything. Was he sad that I ... that I died? But he just said that I didn't die! Which I did, but then I came back – but that's all irrelevant now. _

"_She's not breathing," I heard Madam Pomfrey say. What? Not breathing? Then how in the bloody hell did I know what was going on? I couldn't be imagining this, surely. _

_Malfoy's reply startled me. Did he not think that this fairytale killed me? He was there when I found out about my mother's death! It killed her, so it was only a matter of time before it killed me, too. Didn't he know that? Malfoy underestimates magic, he does._

_And then shock coursed through my system as I heard him mutter the first word of the Killing Curse. He had gone completely insane! He was trying to _kill_ Romilda Vane! Yes, sure she was a bad person, but that was only because she received the part of the wicked step-mother ... he _had_ to know this! Please, can someone please stop him?_

"Expelliarmus!"_ I heard two people cry. _

_And then, nothing. I couldn't hear again; I couldn't feel again. What had just happened? _

_I "woke up" from my vacuum Merlin knows how long later, and I could feel him again. We were moving, I knew. Where to, though? Why wasn't he saying anything? I felt him place me on a...was this a bed? I heard a chair scraping against the floor, and in my mind I winced. Merlin, that noise sounded awful. I heard him convincing Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey for him to stay behind. Why would he want to go and do that, though? Was he bored? _

_I felt him tracing patterns on my hand, and I wanted to slap him again. Why did he insist on playing his little games with me? For one, what he was doing was quite intimate, and two, it tickled. I heard him hum softly ... he usually did that when he was thinking. What was he thinking about? His humming was so peaceful that I almost didn't want to yell at him for making me feel so angry. Almost. _

_And then, a good while later, I heard him murmur a short goodbye; something that carried promises. His warm hand left my cold one, and then –_

_Nothing_.

_-_to be continued-

_**A/**_**N: Right, so I am terribly sorry that I haven't updated in the past, what, two months? It's disgusting, I know. I had exams, I had stress, I had writer's block...the list is endless. Oh no, wait. Yes, that's it. Just those three things, but they're huge things, hey! Ahem, well, I apologise.**

**The end is almost here. I hope that that chapter was incredibly confusing for you...but I hope that you enjoyed it nonetheless.**

**If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask : )**


	25. Professor Pinkle

-PROFESSOR PINKLE-

Draco walked stiffly down the corridors, with his fists clenched at his side. He desperately wanted to go back to the Hospital Wing just in case Hermione woke up, or in case she showed any signs of progression. But he forced himself to walk forward; to concentrate on his present goal. His stiff steps continued for quite some time, and he had almost reached the overly decorated office when he stopped. What if, at that moment, Hermione had woken up? What if she needed someone by her side? Another thought almost made Draco's heart stop: What if they took her away?

He glanced at the magenta door that was just an arm's length away from him and then he glanced in the general direction of the Hospital Wing. _I'll leave it for later_, he thought as he glanced once more at the brightly coloured door. His stiff steps now transformed into lengthy strides, the journey to the Hospital Wing taking less than five minutes.

He opened the well-polished doors to the Infirmary, and he felt his pulse quicken at the sight that greeted his eyes.

"_You,"_ he spat, staring at the back of the petite figure hunched over Hermione's bed. Casting a quick glance at Madam Pomfrey's closed door, he pointed his wand at it, muttered a quick "_Mufliato_!" (thank Merlin that Severus had taught that to him) and hurried forward to Hermione's bed.

By now the person had turned around and was facing Draco with downcast eyes, mouth pulled into a straight line. "You _must_ understand, Mr Malfoy—"

"Oh, I understand, all right," Draco sneered, taking slow steps towards the irritating woman. He took a quick look over her shoulder at Hermione, and it felt as if his very heart tightened when he noticed no signs of improvement. "How _dare_ you stand so near to Hermione!" he said, glaring at her, his voice a harsh whisper.

Her head lifted, and her usually bright eyes looked back at him miserably. Draco couldn't help but feel shocked when he saw the tears skidding down her pale cheeks. Her eyebrows pulled down making her forehead crease, and she exclaimed in a high voice, "_Trust_ me, Mr Malfoy! When she – I mean _I_ – when I planned all of this, I never meant for this to happen!"

Draco gripped his wand more fiercely – the force he was applying to it was almost enough to break the fragile piece of wood. "Did you—" he stopped, trying to unclench his teeth as he sent a death stare at her, "Did you _plan_ for Hermione to _DIE?"_ Even though over the past year, Draco had mastered self-control, his voice still escalated to a scary volume towards the end of his exclamation. He took a step closer to the professor, breathing slowly.

Her eyes bulged. "Wha-?" She looked flabbergasted. "Are you...are you _suggesting_ that I planned to k-kill Hermione?" Her red-rimmed eyes darted a glance at Hermione's motionless figure, and her lips seemed to quiver.

Her act almost seemed genuine. Almost. "Of course that's what I'm suggesting, _Professor_," Draco said snidely, feeling as if he wanted to hex her. _Control, Draco. Control_.

She looked back at him quickly, and the picture was one of a weak woman. "I may be many things, Mr Malfoy," she said in a quivering voice, "but _murderer_ is not one of them."

"Oh?" Draco asked in a challenging voice. "Then how the bloody hell do you explain _this?" _He seethed, pointing behind her in the direction of Hermione. He didn't want to look at Hermione – it would weaken the defence he was putting up against the miserable excuse for a magical being that was sobbing before him.

This time, Professor Pinkle turned right around, her back turned to him again, and rested a thin hand on the sheets. "This?" she asked in a whisper. "This...this is an accident." Her shoulders shook as another wave of wretchedness washed over her.

Draco marched to her – it wasn't much of a distance – becoming dangerously close to losing his stable frame of mind. He was practically shaking with a disproportionate mixture of anger and frustration. "How can you call this an _accident?_" he fumed. "An _accident_ suggests lack of thorough planning or misuse of resources! How can you damn tamper with a sensitive issue such as human _mortality_?" He was breathing more harder and faster now. He closed his eyes. "More specifically, how can you tamper with _Hermione?_"

The professor hadn't replied. Draco was towering over her, talking to the back of her head. And he was becoming angrier at her lack of response.

"_Look_ at me!" he yelled. "I _demand_ your attention!"

She turned to look at him, then, slowly. Clearly, she was not irked by his anger. Clearly, she was not irked by the fire that seemed to be blazing in his eyes. She merely looked up at him – having to take a few steps back to really look at him – and sighed.

She actually had the _nerve_ to sigh. As if she was bored of his ranting.

Wait.

Was she _still _crying? Before Draco could fully react to this, she said quietly, "I...can't...do...this...anymore." Each word seemed forced, and the sound caught in her throat as if it was strangling her.

Draco, briefly thrown off by what she had just said, stuttered, "W-what?"

Without warning, she grasped his hands tightly, and her face seemed to scrunch up in what could only be described as pain. She looked into his eyes. "I ... I..." she stopped, and then started choking.

Anger forgotten, Draco's words seemed to die in his throat. It was late, and this woman was scaring him. Scaring him speechless. What in Merlin's name was going on? What was happening? Unintentionally, he squeezed her hands back, and bending down to her level, he asked, "Professor...Professor, is everything okay?"

When her coughing didn't stop, Draco hesitantly lifted a hand to pat her back. Just when his palm gently hit her back, she started shaking her head violently. He felt his eyebrows draw down. "Must I stop?" he asked hurriedly, his voice laced with a hint of fear. She nodded, her head jerking up and down. Draco immediately stopped, trying to step away. He looked over his shoulder at Madam Pomfrey's office, but he couldn't see her. He silently cursed. She wouldn't be able to help him – _them _– either because she couldn't hear them. And now was a time when he could have really used her help. He couldn't reach his wand, because it was in the same hand that Professor Pinkle was clenching in a deathlike grip.

"Professor Pinkle...Can I go and call Madam Pomfrey?" he asked desperately, as he noticed the professor's eyes slowly droop shut.

She opened her eyes then, and her coughing seemed to slow down. She let go of his hand, and he took a few steps backwards. She was beginning to shiver. "I'm s-sorry about that," she said, her voice coming out in a rasp. Draco's eyes widened. Something strange was going on here. He quickly cast a Warming Spell on her, and she smiled weakly at him in thanks. He looked away.

"Usually it's a heart attack," she said quietly. "I was lucky this time."

_WHAT? _was the question that bounced from wall to wall in his mind. He could not make sense of what was happening.

His eyes followed her as she moved to the other side of Hermione's bed, thereby placing the bed between them. She looked down sadly at Hermione. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Professor," he said slowly, thankful that his anger was being kept at bay by his confusion, "You were saying something earlier."

"Hm?" she asked, lifting her head up. She hadn't heard him speak.

Draco hated repeating himself, but under the circumstances... "You said something about not wanting to do this anymore..." he trailed off, hoping that she would pick up and continue.

She didn't. "Ah," was all she said, nodding slowly whilst turning to look at Hermione again.

"Well?" he asked, getting annoyed.

"Well what?" she asked softly, not raising her head.

This exchange of dialogue was becoming familiar. Draco immediately thought of Hermione. Was it common amongst women to be so evasive?

"To what were you referring?" he asked, hoping that his question wouldn't bring about another round of vagueness.

"This," she said simply.

Draco clenched his teeth. "Yes, I _got_ that. _What,_ exactly, were you talking about?"

"This," she repeated, now looking up at him. Draco tried to read her facial expression, but all he got was pain and anguish.

He sighed, knowing that she wouldn't elaborate. He decided to approach a safer topic – a more important topic. He looked at Hermione whilst he spoke. "I was just at your office, Professor," he said.

"Oh?" she asked, a sad smile on her face.

Draco didn't reply. He didn't think he had to. And besides, it seemed as if the professor was lost in her own world of thoughts.

He tried to bring her back to the present world by skipping right to it. "Professor," he said in a quicker tone, "I need to know how to reverse this...this –" he broke off, trying to search for the right word. He pulled a hand through his hair, deciding that if the woman was intelligent enough, she would know what he was talking about.

He saw her lips pull up into a small smile, and her eyes closed. There was silence for a few seconds – seconds which felt too long to be called seconds. And patience was a virtue Draco did not possess.

"Professor," he said, trying to hide his irritation from his voice. The woman opened her eyes and turned to him, a look of sadness in her eyes.

Draco couldn't bear the look in her eyes – it was becoming too much, too personal. It was almost as if she was baring her soul to him in his eyes. He could see the plea for help in them, but would he act on it?

No.

He looked away, his eyes coming to rest on Hermione's closed ones. He reached down to grasp her hand which was lying in the same position that he had left it in before. He placed it in his, and his thumb drew tiny circles on her soft skin. On her snow-white skin.

Snow-white. His thumb stopped moving. Snow-white...snow white...Snow white.

His head whipped up immediately to look back at Professor Pinkle, who was staring at him with such intensity that he felt genuinely scared. He gulped, knowing the action was cartoonish, before he opened his mouth.

Hermione's eyes opened. Well, they didn't _technically _open, but she could see and feel again! Really though, the only thing she could see was the black nothingness surrounding her, but at least she could see again! She felt a sensation approaching her, and she braced herself for a bout of irritation that was sure to surge through her system any second now.

The git was holding her hand. _Again!_ Could he not feel the waves of annoyance and bitter fury radiating off her skin? But then again, if he couldn't hear her heartbeat, her breathing...could he really sense emotion? The idiot. So oblivious. She wanted to lift his hand off of hers and throw it against something.

In her vacuum, she breathed quickly, trying to gain a sense of tranquillity. She tried to ease her mind, but that hand on hers was like an itch that you couldn't scratch. An infuriating little itch. And...was that his _thumb_ drawing bloody _circles_ on her skin? Did he not know that she was ticklish in that particular area?

Hermione sighed, and decided he wasn't worth all this wasted emotion. She tried to shut down her nervous system – just so that she wouldn't feel _him_ anymore – but found that even though she really tried to do it, she didn't really want to do it.

She started to relax into the light movement of his thumb rubbing against her hand – actually, it wasn't _that_ ticklish – when his thumb stopped moving. Now why would he stop? That was actually beginning to feel rather ... soothing.

A few seconds ticked by, and Hermione patiently waited for his thumb to resume its circle-making when she heard his breathing quicken. At the same time, his hand applied more pressure to hers. What was happening? Was he scared? Did something just occur to him?

Wait a minute. Was there someone else in that room with them? It must be Madam Pomfrey.

"Professor –" came Malfoy's voice. He stopped, and Hermione could have sworn on her last knickel that he had just licked his lips. Hermione sighed. His lips...

_Don't think about that!_ she urged herself, shutting her already closed eyes to images of his lips. _Think about the fact that he said 'Professor' and not 'Madam Pomfrey'..._ So which professor was with them? McGonagall perhaps, seeing that she was with them before.

"Professor," he started again, his voice turning more urgent as his next words followed, "Hermione hasn't been through the mirror yet!"

The mirror! Hermione had briefly forgotten about that! Doubt crept stealthily into her. Would the mirror still work on her, though? If she could have crossed her fingers, she would have.

"Ah," came the soft reply of the professor. Although that was hardly a word in itself, McGonagall didn't usually say things like that, really. Then again, Hermione didn't have the fortune of being in McGonagall's company often, so that wasn't a fair assumption. Also, the voice sounded too soft as opposed to the clipped tones of McGonagall.

"It would have to work, Professor!" Malfoy continued in a rush. "It worked on me, didn't it?"

Hermione felt like rolling her eyes. Well, obviously not. He still sounded as if he cared for her!

"I suppose that could work," the professor said in a dull voice.

Why did she sound so unenthusiastic about it? And who was speaking?

"Professor Pinkle, _please!_ It _has_ to!" Malfoy exclaimed, squeezing Hermione's hand tighter.

Ouch, that hurt! Hermione winced, hoping her would let go.

He didn't. Hermione tuned out the pain, focusing on his words instead. So it was Professor _Pinkle_! It surprised Hermione that she hadn't recognised her voice – but the professor's words were formerly only accompanied by laughter and/or smiles or giggles. The professor sounded so sad.

Strange.

"Summon it," Malfoy urged.

"I beg your pardon?" came the professor's surprised reply.

"Summon it," he repeated.

That was a good idea. It wouldn't fair well to carter Hermione's body all around the school. Someone would notice.

But they would also notice a floating mirror.

"Would that...would that require magic?" asked the professor, sounding confused.

Hermione felt confused. Did she hear correctly? It sounded as if the professor was confirming the use of magic.

"Er, yes," Malfoy said, also sounding confused.

"Ah," was what Professor Pinkle said.

A few seconds passed without anything being said.

"Could you do it?" Malfoy pressed.

"Uh...why don't you do it, Mr Malfoy? Good practice," she said, her tone not sounding convincing.

Malfoy seemed to hesitate, but Hermione felt him move, and she was dead sure she heard his wand move against the air as he flicked it. Like her, he obviously seemed to prefer non-verbal spells.

Everything seemed to be thrown into silence as the three of them waited for the mirror to come.

Fortunately, Draco decided to look out the window, because in the darkness of the night outside, he saw a flash of glass coming closer and closer. He jumped up, regretting the severing of the contact with Hermione, but he attempted to focus on what was before him. Professor Pinkle didn't seem perturbed by what he was doing. The strange woman was looking elsewhere. He waved his wand, and the windows flew open. At the sound of the howling wind, Professor Pinkle turned around quickly, her hands rising as if in surrender.

Odd.

When she noticed it was just the mirror, she lowered her hands. Using his wand, Draco directed the mirror to a stop, metres before him. He looked down quickly at Hermione, wondering if she was feeling cold. He flicked his wand again, and the windows banged shut.

Professor Pinkle jumped at the noise.

"Professor," he began. She looked at him, her tears gone. "Professor, if I had to carry her through that mirror, would I turn back into Prince Charming?"

She blinked. "I...I should think so, Mr Malfoy," she said.

Draco pursed his lips. "You designed it, Professor. You should know," Draco said, not being able to eliminate the challenging note in his voice.

She hesitated. Honestly, what was going on with that woman today?

"Then, yes. Yes it would," she said after a while.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

She hesitated again, but then nodded. He didn't fully believe her – her eyes contradicted her words. Nonetheless, he pretended to believe her, and with his wand pointed at Hermione, he thought _Locomotor_!

She rose from the bed, like a doll, the sheets falling away from her body.

"Please let this work," he murmured, gripping his wand tighter. He felt like closing his eyes, but he kept them open. Ever so slowly, he directed Hermione's body through the mirror, walking alongside her – around the mirror. He felt his heartbeat increase and his gut clench. _If this didn't work..._

He shook his head. Still holding up his wand, he watched as she emerged on the other side...

...her eyes still closed.

A cry of anguish jumped out of his mouth. Before he could lose concentration, he directed her back to the bed. Once she was in her former position, he dropped his wand, hearing it fall to the floor. He rushed to her bed, bringing the sheets up to cover her. He did what he saw Madam Pomfrey doing earlier. He checked her wrist – nothing. He checked her throat – nothing. He watched her chest to see if it would rise – nothing. He placed a finger just under her nose to feel if she was breathing – nothing.

Nothing.

"Nothing," he murmured, shaking his head from side to side, squeezing his eyes shut. "Nothing," he said again. "Nothing, nothing, _nothing_!"

He opened his eyes, and bent over Hermione's bed, gripping her face between his hands. "Hermione, wake up," he urged. "Wake up!"

"Mr Malfoy..."

He had forgotten about Professor Pinkle. Right now, he didn't want her there. He didn't want anyone there. He didn't want o go through this again. It hurt. It hurt like hell. To feel pain, then hope, and then pain again was torture. Torture that would take time to go away.

"Please, just go away," he whispered, still looking down at Hermione's lifeless face. He lowered his head a few inches and placed a soft kiss on her cold lips. The last kiss. He rested his forehead against hers, breathing slowly.

He felt the professor's gaze on him, so he turned to look at her. "Professor, I just –" He stopped, noticing that she held his wand in her hand. She was looking at it rather intently. "Ah, my wand. Thank you," he said, reaching for it.

She looked at him then. "I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy, but I'm going to have to do this," her voice was filled with pain once again, and her face was contorted into an expression of discomfort.

"Do what?" he asked. He looked at his wand in her hand again. "Professor, can I just have my wand please?" A voice in the back of his head told him that something was about to happen. Something definitely not good. He darted a look at Hermione again, and slowly placed himself between her and the professor. "Professor..." he said quietly.

"Please understand that I never wanted for this – _any_ of this to happen," she continued, her words coming out as if practised. Draco stared at her silently. What was going on? He wanted to be with Hermione, but he felt as if he needed to sort the professor out first. "I have been or—" her eyes bulged, and her free hand went to her throat. Draco opened his mouth to say something, but she spoke again. "—ord—" she choked again. What was she trying to say?

"Ordinary? Audacity? Order?" he asked, trying to grasp meaning of what she was trying to say. Her eyes bulged again, and she pointed at him, nodding her head. He narrowed his eyes, thinking. "Audacity? Professor, what does that—" he broke off, as she started to violently shake her head. "What?" he asked. "Ordinary?" she shook her head again, gesticulating wildly with the wand-free hand. "Order?" he asked.

She nodded her head, and he could practically hear her teeth grinding together. "Are you talking about The Order, Professor? The Order of the Phoenix?" he asked, trying to grasp at loose straws. He loathed guessing games. She shook her head again, and made wild gestures with her hand. "Professor, I don't understand," he said honestly. "You look uncomfortable at the moment. Why don't you go find help...I would like to say a personal good—" he broke off, sighing, "—I need to say goodbye to Hermione." He looked sadly over his shoulder at Hermione, and he closed his eyes. "Hermione," he sighed.

He turned back to face the professor, and got shocked at how much closer she had come. She pointed his wand back at him. "Mr Malfoy," she said. Her coughs seemed to have vanished. "Mr Malfoy, I'm sorry. I have been or—" another choke broke off her sentence.

Draco pieced two and two together. "Ordered? Is that what you're trying to say?" she nodded, still choking.

"Professor...ordered to do what?" he took a step backwards, closer to Hermione. He knew he should help the professor, but something told him not to go any closer to her than was necessary.

She closed her eyes. Still choking, she managed to say, "To k—"

"To what?" Draco dearly wished he had his wand with him. He didn't even know where Hermione's was.

She took another step toward him. Draco took one step back.

The professor seemed to fight a battle of her own as her body started twitching. Draco gulped again. Fear's fingernails scratched their way down his spine. She looked over Draco's shoulder – at what, he didn't know. Her twitching came to an abrupt halt, as she stared open-mouthed. "No," she seemed to murmur. "It can't be...Why now?"

"Professor..." Draco started, but stopped when he saw the woman sobbing.

She pointed his wand at him more fiercely, the piece of wood shaking in her hand. "I'm sorry," she said, looking over his shoulder.

"No!" Draco heard a girl shout behind him. Wait! That voice sounded too familiar! He forgot about Professor Pinkle. And, not wanting to believe the miracle that had just occurred, was about to turn around when –

"_Avada Kedavra!" _Professor Pinkle gasped, clutching her chest, before falling backwards into the mirror.

-to be continued-

_**A/ **_**N: Sorry, that was a really sort chapter! Tell me your thoughts please! And don't worry, if you're confused now, your confusion should hopefully evaporate in the next chapter.**


	26. Ignorance

_**A/**_**N: Please bear with me for the first part of this chapter! It's basically the same thing from the end of the last chapter, but from Hermione's perspective. I felt that it was kind of important. Enjoy: D **

-IGNORANCE-

Hermione couldn't comprehend what was happening. She felt even more lost in this vacuum of hers. One moment, Draco was holding her hand, and then the next moment, she was thrust back into the bottomless pool of nonexistence.

She awoke again Merlin knows how long later to the feeling of Malfoy's fingers at her pulse points. Bleeding hell, this boy was overstepping his boundaries. Hermione was bloody sure that he had seen how dangerous her temper could make her – he had been on the receiving end of it once! When she got out of this place, she _swore_ that she would make Malfoy's life a living hell.

Well, that sounded dramatic, didn't it? She would just irritate him for a while – maybe a week or two – just to show him how much his physical contact with her annoyed and angered her!

Hermione attempted to calm down. Malfoy was not worth all of this venting. She was wasting time. She tried to focus on his fingers pressing into her wrist, her throat...What, exactly, did he think he was doing? With her mind still on red alert by his fingers pressing down a great deal into her throat, she felt as if he was watching her. She hated when people watched her without saying anything. It felt as if she was a specimen under scrutiny.

Mentally, she shifted, wondering at what Malfoy was staring at. Was there something on her face? Were her clothes covering her properly?

Then she felt his cool fingers gently rest on the skin above her lips. Against her will, Hermione sighed. Had his fingers always been that soft, that calming?

_Pull yourself together_, she scolded herself, trying to ignore his un-ignorable presence. She tried to concentrate on why he would check her wrist, her throat...why he would place his fingers under her...

The penny dropped.

Was she _still_ dead? This is a joke, right? He was checking for a pulse and to see if she was breathing. Wasn't she? This felt too bizarre, too odd to be real. She must surely be dreaming then. This was someone's twisted idea of dreamland. Because it was definitely _not possible_ that she could know what was happening around her whilst being dead.

No. She couldn't be dead. She couldn't. She needed to give Malfoy a piece of her mind before dying. She couldn't be dead; she just couldn't.

"Nothing," Malfoy kept on murmuring, a tone of torment tearing through is voice. This didn't seem right. There was no reason for him to be sad. She was sure he would find someone else to play games with, to befriend them, kiss them and leave them. She huffed. There were probably plenty of other girls out there that fit that description.

Suddenly, he gripped her face – his time, gently. His hands cupped the sides of her face, and Hermione felt the ice-like quality of his hands escaping. His hands soon became hot, and she could have sworn that she could feel his pulse beneath the surface of his skin...

"Hermione," he was saying, "Wake up...wake up!"

Sod it, man, she was up! Not technically speaking, of course, but she was almost fully aware of what was happening around her. She wished she could wake up, she wished he could just Imperius her...maybe then she would wake up. She wished that she could jump right out of that bed and strangle him for pretending to act all caring, emotional, chivalrous... She wished. But this wasn't the fairytale where one could rub a lamp and a genie would appear. This wasn't a fairytale that resulted in complete happiness for everyone. This wasn't a fairytale where life in reality could mean something.

This wasn't a fairytale, actually. This was her life. His life. This _was_ reality. Reality with a heavy concentration of underworld magic.

Would she give up?

No. No, she wouldn't. That would mean letting go of everything that existed in her life: her parents, Hogwarts, Harry, Ron, her other friends, her professors, the adventures...maybe even Malfoy. Just a bit. She tried to force her mouth open; she tried to voice words...but it was to no avail. She couldn't even lift her hand! She felt useless.

"Mr Malfoy..." she heard Professor Pinkle say. The professor's words were patterned with hesitation, a hint of warning.

"Please," Malfoy said, his words blowing across Hermione's face. She wished she could smell. If she could have, surely she would have smelt the freshness of his words, the naturalness of them. "Just go away," he said, his tone turning desperate.

And then Hermione froze. She couldn't think, she couldn't hear. She could only _feel_. She felt him coming closer and closer to her, and a few soft strands of his hair swept across her forehead. What was he doing? A feeling of déjà vu oozed through her body as she felt his warm, soft lips brace her own. The moment his lips touched hers, something like a power surge raced through her body. It started at her toes, wrapping itself around each part of her body as it made its way to her head. A feeling of warmth embraced her skin, and she could feel his forehead coming to rest on hers. He was breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Sounds travelled through her ears. Smells drifted up her nostrils. The cool, cool air cracked against her skin.

She was alive.

But before she could say anything, he lifted his head away from hers, shearing their contact with each other. She felt cold, yet she concentrated on what he was saying. She felt his weight shift off her bed as he stood u, gently asking the professor for his wand. What was she doing with his wand?

Hermione felt her body twitch slightly, and she willed it to stop. It did. Her body was responding to her! She tried to move her hand underneath the sheets...it did. She tried to wiggle her toes...they did. And last, noticing that her heartbeat was turning erratic as euphoria entered her system, she opened her eyes.

Harsh light pierced her eyes, and she immediately shut them. Taking it more slowly this time, she opened her eyes a sliver. Then a little more. Then a little more. Gradually, in the space of a few seconds, she became used to the room's light. Her eyes rolled about in their sockets as she absorbed everything around her. She licked her dry lips, observing the floating candles, the ceiling, the bed she was lying on.

Hermione's brief moment of euphoria was cut short as she heard Professor Pinkle say, "I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy, but I'm going to have to do this." _Do what?_ Hermione wondered. She tried to get up from her place on the bed, but her body felt too stiff. She tried again, but again, it didn't work. _Where is my wand?_ she wondered, unsure. She tried to move her arms, but gathered that they too were stiff. She could only move her hands. Well, this was proving futile. She clenched and unclenched each part of her body starting at her toes, her legs...and so on. This should work.

She breathed in slowly, liking the clean smell of the Hospital Wing. And she could smell Malfoy as well. She felt as if she could hear everything. She could hear herself breathe, she could practically hear her heartbeat, she could hear –

"Professor, can I just have my wand please?" she heard Malfoy say. There was an edge of hysteria to his voice that Hermione didn't like.

With eyes opened to just a slit, Hermione observed him. He had moved to stand at the foot of her bed, and she couldn't really see beyond him. His tall frame seemed even taller from where she was, and she tried to move to the side to see passed him, but it hurt. Hermione tried to crane her neck. She winced. One step at a time. She was at her stomach now, clenching and unclenching. Clenching and unclenching.

"Please understand that I never wanted for this – _any_ of this to happen," Professor Pinkle said. Surprise filtered through Hermione as she heard a note of pain in the professor's voice. The professor went on to stutter over a few words, and Malfoy tried to help her. Hermione noticed that he had backed fully into her bed, and his shoulders were tensed. She could see the outline of his arm muscles through his shirt, and she wondered what was bothering him.

Again, she tried to move, but only her legs followed her brain's command. Hermione rolled her eyes, and began to clench and unclench her arms. _Almost there_.

Hermione caught only snippets of what was happening as she was giving her full effort to move her body.

"...Order of the Phoenix..." Draco was saying.

"...You look uncomfortable at the moment..."

"...I need to say goodbye to Hermione..."

What? Had he already given up? She wasn't dead! _Come here! _She screamed at him in her mind. She couldn't open her mouth yet. _Come here and _feel_ my pulse points! _Check_ to see if I'm breathing!_

And then one word beckoned to her, "Hermione..." He had put so much of emotion into that one, simple word. Emotion that called to her. Emotion that attached itself to her and was pulling at her like a string. _Get up_, it seemed to say. _Get up now_.

She tried. She really did. She twisted her head this way and that, trying to unknot the tension in her neck. Using her elbows she attempted to drag herself up, but she couldn't. She tried again and again, only half-hearing the dialogue exchange between Malfoy and the professor.

"...Ordered? Is that what you're trying to say?..."

Was that Professor Pinkle that was choking?

"...Professor...ordered to do what..."

"...To k—"

Hermione stopped trying to pull herself up, deciding that this conversation was more important. What was the professor trying to say? And why couldn't she articulate her words properly? Having one final go, Hermione clenched her teeth and hauled herself up, propping herself on her elbows. She felt immediately dizzy, and almost dropped back to the bed, but she forced herself to stay upright. She closed her eyes, waiting to stop feeling lightheaded. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes, and before she could take a look around her, she was frozen by the stare the professor was sending her.

He professor looked as if she was in physical pain, her face twisted into a grimace, her eyes bulging as she stared at Hermione. Hermione felt uncomfortable. "No...it can't be...Why now?" Professor Pinkle murmured anxiously, her gaze transfixed on Hermione. Hermione licked her lips, not knowing what to do.

What did the professor mean? Hermione shifted her eyes slightly to the left, taking in the back of Malfoy. She looked back at Professor Pinkle. She pushed herself further off her bed, so that now she could see over his shoulder. She felt her eyes widen. Professor Pinkle had her wand pointed _at Malfoy!_ Confusion ripped through Hermione and before she could act on it, professor Pinkle looked at her sadly, and said, "I'm sorry."

In less than a split-second, Hermione's mind spun into overdrive and she realised what was happening. She threw back her covers, yelling, "No!" The fact that she had opened her mouth to formulate words was irrelevant at the moment.

Her cry seemed to shock both Malfoy and Professor Pinkle, but Professor Pinkle gasped, and clutched her chest. She cried, "_Avada kedavra!" _her wand pointed at Malfoy, before falling into the mirror.

Hermione gasped. The woman had slipped right through the surface of the mirror as if it was water! And no green light had shot out of her wand! She scrambled out of the bed, and ignoring the dull aches and twists of pain that vibrated through her body, she hurried to stand next to Malfoy, looking at the mirror. The cold floor burned into the soles of her feet, but she ignored it. Shock was the one thing that overpowered all these physical, non-emotional feelings.

Hermione noticed how big Malfoy's eyes became as he stared at their reflection. He must have only realised then that she was standing next to him. He whirled around to face her, his mouth dropping open. "You-" he gasped. "You're alive!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, taking a step away from him. "Yes, yes," she said impatiently. She pointed at the mirror, saying, "More importantly, did you see that?" she asked seriously, her voice low.

His eyebrows shot up. "Hermione, you _rose from the dead_ and you think that _that_ is more important?" he asked incredulously, jerking his head in the direction of the mirror.

He had stepped closer to her, his curiosity and shock getting the better of him. Hermione tried to disregard the warmth he was exuding and took another step away from him. "And so what if I did rise from the dead, Malfoy?" she asked, folding her arms. "That part was completely predictable, of course. That's how the fairytale ends...or don't you remember?"

He narrowed his eyes at her words. "Of course I remember, Hermione," he said thinly. "But I...I _kissed _you –" Hermione grimaced at the memory, not noticing how his eyebrows shot up at her reaction. He narrowed his eyes further. "I _kissed _you," he repeated, looking at her, "just like how Prince Charming did, mind you, and you didn't wake up. Hear that? _You didn't wake up._"

Hermione looked away. She couldn't handle the intensity with which he was looking at her. Was he doing that deliberately? Was he trying to distract her? "Malfoy," she said, "We need to deal with the matter at hand –"

He cut across her. "-Which is the fact that you awoke after dying, which – according to the laws of magic – is impossible."

"Could you please get over that?" she cried out exasperatedly. His lips twitched, and Hermione knew that he wanted to say something. "What I _meant_ was the fact that a supposed _professor_ tried to kill you, and nothing happened!"

Malfoy looked back at the mirror. "Oh, that."

Rolling her eyes, she said, "Yes, _that_."

He looked back at her, and something akin to emotion registered in his eyes. Hermione's breath caught when she saw his hand reaching out as if to touch her, but he brought it back down to his side. She breathed out again slowly, feeling relieved. She started to walk over to the mirror, careful not to go too close to him as she passed.

"Wait!" Malfoy called out, grabbing her wrist. Hermione was jerked to a stop. How dare he touch her? Without turning around, she glared down at his hand clamped on her wrist. "_What_ do you think you're doing?" she asked, irritated.

He let go of her wrist immediately, and calmly said, "Stopping you."

She couldn't see what expression he was wearing, and quite frankly, she didn't care. She ignored him and continued to walk forward. "She's unconscious, Malfoy," she said.

She felt his presence beside her. "You can't know that," he said.

"I can, and I do," she insisted. She was about to step around the mirror when he pulled her behind him. "Honestly, Malfoy, I'm no mere _girl_," she said scathingly, trying to get out of his strong grasp. He had twisted his body so that his lower half was in front of the mirror, and his upper half was behind it. "Malfoy, let _go _of me," she ordered. When she found that he wasn't responding, she yelled, "MALFOY!"

He let go of her, but he did so ever so slowly. "Hermione," he whispered.

"What." She was annoyed. She came to stand next to him, looking at him, wishing that her glare would melt him.

He wasn't looking at her, though. He was staring at the floor, his mouth slightly open. "Hermione...she's your mother."

"What?" she asked, turning away from him to look at the woman on the floor. She blinked. Then, a muffled cry sounded in her mouth, and she bent down to take a closer look at her mother. "Mum..." she murmured, suddenly feeling sad. She wiped her eyes, wondering if what she was seeing was indeed real.

She reached out a hand to touch the woman's cheek, but she felt a cool hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, and was about to tell him off, when he said quietly, "This might be trick, Hermione."

She looked up at him. What she appreciated (but wouldn't tell him) was that he wasn't looking at her with pity in his eyes. In previous days, Hermione wouldn't believe that Malfoy was capable of showing kindness or concern. But, despite her feelings of anger and resentment that had resurfaced for him, she could acknowledge that now he was capable of such things. Human goodness – because, yes, he had displayed these traits.

Now, looking down at her, his hand still resting on her shoulder, more than kindness or concern was represented in his face. He stared at her, and she understood. Over the past seven years – now eight – she had been through so much of disguised danger, that anything could be possible. He nodded his head slowly, as if agreeing with what she was thinking, and she slowly turned back to look at the woman who looked like her mother, Jean Granger.

She sighed. For the past week, she had been under the impression that she had only one parent left in the world. And then now, _now_, she comes within hugging distance of a person who looks so much like her mother – right down to the small beauty spot on her chin – and she couldn't even touch her. But Malfoy was right. This _could_ be a trick.

And if it was a trick, then what sort of reasoning was behind it? Whose idea of crude intelligence was this? She slowly leaned away, noticing that Malfoy's hand was still resting – not restraining her – on her shoulder. She shook her shoulders slightly, hoping that he would take the hint. He did.

She picked up the wand lying next to the woman and she slowly got up, still looking at the woman who lay splayed on the floor. Hermione glanced up at the mirror, and then back down at the woman. She turned to Malfoy, having to step back to look at him without hurting her neck. She handed him his wand. He took it wordlessly. "Where is Madam Pomfrey?" she asked him, refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was looking at her strangely. She concentrated instead on the pupils of his eyes – at least those didn't distract her. They were rather large now – a thing very quick to notice when a person had such light-coloured eyes. Taking a quick look around the room, she noticed how prominently dark it was outside. She returned her gaze to him.

"She is in her office," Malfoy said slowly, his eyes not moving from Hermione's face.

Hermione felt her eyebrows pulling down. "How is it that she didn't hear the ruckus taking place here?"

Malfoy walked back bit by bit, and Hermione followed him. He was probably trying to steer her away from the woman on the floor. He stopped when they were at the bed. "I cast a _Muffliato_ spell on her. It's a spell that –"

"I know what it does," Hermione muttered. If he was surprised, he didn't show it. The only expression he wore was one of curiosity. He was still looking at her strangely.

"Hermione, have I done something to offend you?" he asked seriously, leaning in towards her.

Hermione took a step backwards. "Not at all," she lied. "We need to inform Madam Pomfrey of what happened."

"Because," Malfoy continued, seeming to not have heard what she said, "I get the feeling that you are angry with me."

"Can I use that please?" she asked, pointing to his wand.

He looked down at his wand and then held it behind his back. "Answer my question," he said quietly, staring at her intensely.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Malfoy, there are more pressing matters at hand. No, listen to me," she said, when she saw he was about to interject. She pointed behind her. "There is a woman there who has changed her form. She now looks like my mother. That same woman also tried to kill you. We need to deal with _this_ first."

He regarded her for a moment, and then sighed. "But we _will_ discuss the other ...matter later." It wasn't a question.

Hermione merely nodded, knowing full well that she had no intention of broaching that topic later.

He flicked his wand. "Done."

"What?" Hermione asked, not noticing a difference.

"I lifted the spell. Wasn't that what you wanted to do?"

"Oh," Hermione said, feeling stupid. "Yes."

"Madam Pomfrey!" he called, still looking at Hermione. Hermione couldn't understand the way in which he was looking at her. It was as if he was trying to read her, or something. It was as if he knew she was withholding information about her feelings.

Hermione held his gaze, refusing to look away, trying to keep her face devoid of emotion. Not before long, she heard quick steps. She looked around Malfoy, watching the petite woman quickly make her way towards them, looking down at a piece of parchment in her hands. "What is it, Mr Malfoy? I'm kind of b—" She stopped, looking up for the first time. The parchment fell from her hands. "M-miss..._Granger?_"

Hermione stepped forward. "Madam Pomfrey," she said, smiling politely.

The nurse gasped. "You...you're _alive_!" She exclaimed rushing forward, grabbing Hermione by the shoulders. "But you were dead! No heartbeat, nothing!"

"I know, Madam Pomfrey—" Hermione started.

"How did you come back from the dead?" the nurse whispered, her eyes huge.

"Yes, Hermione, how _is_ it that you came back from the dead?" Malfoy mocked.

Hermione turned to glare at him. "He kissed me, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said matter-of-factly to the nurse.

Madam Pomfrey looked at Hermione, then at Malfoy, then back at Hermione. She smiled. "My dear, that is impossible. What really happened? Because a magical medical miracle has occurred!"

Hermione sighed. She couldn't expect a professional to believe her – especially someone educated in the field of Magical Medicine. "Madam Pomfrey, it is a rather long story, and I can _assure_ you that that was exactly what happened."

The nurse looked dubious. "Miss Granger—"

"Madam Pomfrey, take a look at this," Malfoy said, coming to Hermione's rescue. He gestured behind them at the woman on the floor.

Madam Pomfrey gasped, holding a hand to her chest. She rushed forward, kneeling before the unconscious woman. She turned her over, checking her vitals. She breathed a sigh of relief. Standing up, she used her wand to levitate the woman. She directed her to the bed Hermione had previously been using. She patted the sheets around the woman, and aligned her body so that the woman was on her back.

Madam Pomfrey turned to face them. "What is the meaning of this?" she asked, her lips pulled into a straight line.

Malfoy, Hermione noticed, was still looking at her. Hermione ignored him and replied, "We don't know."

The nurse stared at her incredulously. "What do you mean you don't know? Surely you must know _something_."

"Let me explain, Madam Pomfrey. Whatever we know, I'll explain," Malfoy said. He stepped forward, explaining everything from the point at which people were chosen to play specific roles for the fairytale musicalermHerHedkjfnc/lHermii, to the point at which "Professor Pinkle" fell through the mirror after trying to cast an Unforgivable Curse on him.

At this point, Madam Pomfrey had conjured a chair and was now sitting on it, staring at the ground. "You mean to tell me that this woman is Professor Pinkle?" she asked, clearly not believing him.

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione answered. "I was awake. I saw it."

"But I know what Professor Pinkle looks like! I've seen her before!"

"Professor Pinkle fell through the mirror, and the next time we looked, we found her," Malfoy said, motioning towards the woman on the bed.

Madam Pomfrey got up and walked towards the mirror. "What is the function of this?" she asked, gazing at it.

Malfoy stepped forward. "It is a magical device designed by Prof – by that woman. When you walk through it, all magic performed on you over the past week is reversed or lifted."

Hermione gasped. They turned to look at her. "I...I think I just realised something." She licked her lips.

"Evidently," Malfoy said.

"This woman here...she is, I think, in her actual form. She must have taken...Polyjuice Potion, or...or an Illusion Charm or _something_ to make her look like someone else!" Hermione said in a rush, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes in thought. "Then that magic...that magic would have been _reversed_ when she fell backwards through the mirror," he muttered. He looked at Hermione, and she looked back at him, unaware that his mind too had begun to spin with ideas and thoughts.

Madam Pomfrey looked doubtful. "That sounds quite far-fetched."

"Madam Pomfrey, with all due respect, we have been through so many things that the word 'far-fetched' has become plausible," Malfoy said.

"Either way, I'll have to run tests and the like just to make sure – Miss Granger! What are you doing?" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed.

Hermione stepped away quickly from the person on the bed. "I was just...um," Hermione said, searching for an excuse. "She's breathing, Madam Pomfrey."

"Yes, I know that, Miss Granger. Thank you for pointing out the obvious," Madam Pomfrey said, narrowing her eyes. "Miss Granger, would you please come away from there?"

Hermione slipped another look at the woman, and then reluctantly moved away.

"Now, Miss Granger, I am happy that you are alive, but you need to excuse me," Madam Pomfrey said, waving her wand. Hermione ducked just in time as several potion bottles and flasks and rolls of parchments soared their way. They lined themselves neatly on the table, and Madam Pomfrey began going through them, reading the labels. She looked up at them, noticing that they were still there.

"Mr Malfoy, please escort Miss Granger out as she seems incapable of leaving," Madam Pomfrey instructed.

Hermione began walking out of the Hospital Wing. "I am perfectly capable of doing that myself, Madam Pomfrey. Goodnight."

Hermione heard Malfoy's "goodnight" as he too left the infirmary. She ignored the sound of his footsteps behind her, and quickened her pace. He didn't comment or say anything throughout the whole journey to the Heads Tower. At times, Hermione would want him to say anything, and at those times she would silently scold herself for thinking such thoughts.

She came to a stop at the portrait, wondering what the password was. She didn't want to ask him, but she turned to look at him nevertheless. "What, now you decide to acknowledge my presence?" he asked sarcastically. He stepped forward, and muttered, "_Fidelitas._"

She stepped through and looked around. The place hadn't changed in the slightest. When was the last time she had been in here? She smiled, and was about to walk over to her room, when –

"Stop," he said, the tone of irritation bringing her to a halt.

* * *

Draco felt so frustrated. She had no right to wake up like that – _from the dead_ – and act as if nothing happened. Did she even know how much emotional pain he had gone through? For her? That still boggled his mind, but it was the truth. She didn't even say '_thank you'_; she hadn't expressed _any_ signs of gratitude. She had acted incredibly standoffish, and why wouldn't she let him touch her? What did she have a problem with?

Draco had just gotten over his issues with touching people...well, maybe it was just Hermione...and she _knew _that.

"What?" she asked, not turning around. He needed for her to turn around. He needed to see her face. He needed to see her eyes again – the spark in them.

He walked over, and came to a stop right behind her. "Hermione," he said.

He saw her body tense as she realised that he was behind her. And, predictably, she took a step forward – away from him. A dull throbbing began in his head. "Hermione, what are you doing?" he asked, annoyed.

She turned around to face him. Finally. "Meaning?" she asked somewhat innocently.

Draco narrowed his eyes. She knew what he meant. He lifted an eyebrow.

She probably realised that he knew that she knew because she sighed. "Malfoy, I want to sleep. I'm tired," she said, her left eye twitching.

Hermione seemed so set on avoiding him, and this disturbed Draco. He couldn't understand why the person who had saved him from himself was now leaving him stranded. "You just slept for the past day, and you're feeling _tired?_"

She turned away, looking at something on their right. "I wasn't _sleeping_, Malfoy. I was half dead."

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, this time seriously.

She turned to look at him. "If I answer your question, will you let me go?"

The question '_will you let me go?'_ bothered him to no end. Draco saw more than one meaning in it, but he didn't show it. He maintained a blank face. "Yes," he said.

"I was dead, yes. But then something happened – I don't know what – and then I was alive again, but I couldn't –"

"When was this?" he asked, cutting across her.

She narrowed her eyes. "I don't know."

"Can you try to remember?" he asked. When she didn't respond, he added, "It might be important."

She sighed. Inwardly, he smirked, knowing that she had done something he had asked. She bit her lip and the action brought Draco's attention to her lips. They were not as red as they used to be – the pink colour had returned. They still looked so soft, and Draco had the urge to unhook her teeth from her lip. He clenched his fists, though, attempting to exercise self-restraint.

He knew when she had found the answer because he could see the realisation in her eyes. She brought her eyes up to his, and then they dropped to his lips. Draco couldn't help but smile slightly. Did she know how incredibly readable she was? When she noticed his smile, she brought her eyes to meet his, and Draco saw the annoyance – self-annoyance – in them.

He looked at her with unfeigned amusement, his irritation with her already gone. "Yes?" he asked.

"It was when you kissed me," she muttered.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, but I wasn't _alive_. I couldn't see anything. But I could hear...and feel."

"But your heart...it stopped beating...and you weren't—"

"Breathing, I know. I also don't understand it."

Draco thought. "Were you conscious of what was happening all the time?"

She looked down, biting her lower lip again. After a while, she looked up at him again. "Now that I think about it...No. There were times when I would switch off, and then switch on again. Very haphazardly."

"Who was the last person you felt or heard? Usually, I mean," Draco enquired.

She thought. "You," she said after a while.

"And the first?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"You."

"How flattering," he said.

She stepped away from him. "Don't feel too important, Malfoy. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation."

Draco pushed down the deflated feeling of having her walk away, and said, "Of course there is."

"Maybe..."

"What?"

"Never mind."

"Tell me," he insisted.

"No, it sounds rather obtuse."

"I'm pretty used to obtuse, Hermione. Tell me."

"I think..." she trailed off.

"Would you spit it out!" Draco practically yelled.

She was at the window now, looking out. He slowly walked towards her. "I think that whenever you would have contact with me...it would cause me to switch on..." she trailed off. Shaking her head, she said, "It sounds even more stupid when I say it out loud."

Draco thought. "No...no, it actually doesn't," he said seriously.

She whipped around to face him. "Why are you following me?" she asked, moving away from him again. Draco sighed.

"It sounds like a good theory, Hermione," he commented.

"What, you following me?" she asked, now sitting on one of the couches. He remained standing by the window.

"No," he said, clicking his tongue. "About having contact with me during your non-dead, non-alive state."

"Seriously?"

"Well, given the roles we had, wouldn't it work like that? Snow White had been brought to life by Prince Charming's kiss. Why couldn't you be brought back with _my_ kiss?" His argument sounded fairly reasonable, but the thought of kissing her made him uncomfortable. It brought back memories.

"Well, I suppose..." she said, sounding unsure. "But wait," she said, after a while.

"What?" he asked, watching the moon.

"Could you look at me?"

Could he? Yes. Would he? No. Even though he really wanted to... "No," he said, deciding to be stubborn.

"I can't talk to you properly if you're not looking at me," she reasoned.

"Then that really is your fault," he said, leaning his head against the cold glass.

"I resent that," she said, sounding annoyed.

"I know," he sighed, closing his eyes. "What was it that you wanted to say?"

He heard her sigh. "I don't think your theory is right."

He smiled, knowing she couldn't see. "And why is that?"

"Because when you kissed me –" here she cleared her throat, "-you weren't in your Prince Charming state."

Ah. He had been ready for that. But first..."How did you know that?"

"It was a guess," she said. He could just imagine her shrugging.

"It was a good one," he murmured. "True, I wasn't in my Prince Charming state, but you were still in your Snow White state. Maybe that's why it only half-worked. You were awake, but you weren't."

"Oh!" she gasped. "Then that's why...When you kissed me in the Hospital Wing, it worked! Because...you passed me through the mirror!"

"How did you know that?" he asked softly.

"You were asking Professor Pin – that woman about it."

"Oh."

Silence.

"Hermione," he said.

"Hm?" she seemed to be in a better mood. It seemed that whenever she brainstormed something, she would become excited. Therefore, it was safe to ask his question. "Why are you angry with me?"

He turned around to face her. He was just in time to see her ease slip off her face. Irritation was back in its place. Hermione turned her head away from him, facing the fire.

"Because you kissed me."

Draco blinked. "You're annoyed with me for ... for bringing you back?" he asked, surprised.

"No, I'm _glad_ you did that. I'm just annoyed that you had the _gall_ to kiss me or touch me...intimately," she said quietly.

Draco felt his pulse pick up. He took a breath. "Hermione, that was necessary." _No, it wasn't._ Draco brushed the thought away.

"Drawing circles on my hand? Patting my hair? Cradling me to your chest?" she asked softly. Draco closed his eyes. Why was she semi-conscious when he had been doing that?

"I thought you had died, Hermione," he said simply, honestly.

She stood up then, walking over to him. "And _so_?" she asked. "So _what_ if I died, Malfoy?"

Draco knew he had to put a mask back up; he knew that she was backing him into a corner, and if he didn't act smart, there would be no way out. "It's what friends do, Hermione," he said, looking away, hoping that she wouldn't see his eye twitch.

She came to a stop before him. "Friends?" she repeated, sounding surprised.

He walked away from her, going to her previous place.

"That's what we are," he said quietly.

"What?"

She didn't have to sound so surprised. She didn't have to sound so shocked. Draco had to lie to her because he just wasn't ready to tell her that he felt something for her. He couldn't bring himself to that level of honesty. How could he tell her that what he felt for her was beyond the boundaries of friendship? How could he tell her that he wished he could kiss her properly again? How could he tell her that he dreamt up fantasies involving just the two of them? Even now, he was constantly thinking those thoughts as she stood there before him. How could he tell her these things without tarnishing her heart like that? Because the truth was that he wasn't good for her. There weren't many young men out there who were healed by young women. He couldn't constantly ask that of Hermione.

And what would she see in him anyway? He was just the person whom she had helped. She had seen him at his worst, at his most vulnerable. No one would really like someone like that.

Therefore, he lied. He leaned towards her, smelling her wonderful scent. "What did you think, Hermione?" he asked, his voice just a whisper.

She hadn't leaned away. She was looking into his eyes, and Draco could read everything there. Her confusion being most dominant. "I thought..." she started and then stopped. She looked away.

"Honestly, tell me what you think," he whispered. "Honestly." Irony played an important part in that sentence.

She cleared her throat. "I..."

He moved them around so that she was the one against the wall. "You..."

She licked her lips. He placed his hands on the wall on either side of her head and leaned forward, knowing that this would be the last time he could act like this toward her. "I thought..." she whispered, and Draco closed his eyes as he felt her breath wash over his face. "I thought that you felt something more."

Silence.

-to be continued-

_**A/**_**N: So I made this chapter a lot longer than most because I felt the beginning was a bit repetitive. And also, I've been getting such awesome reviews that I felt you people deserved an awesomely long chapter : )**

**Thanks for the support! xx**


	27. Questions and Answers

-QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS-

Draco opened his eyes, feeling the weight of her words push down on his head. She was still looking at him, a glimmer of doubt in her wonderfully brown eyes. He pushed slightly away from her, but still kept his hands on the wall. His heart beat torturously fast yet he maintained his cool.

"I'm wrong," she said after a while, tilting her head, analysing him. It was unfortunately evident to Draco that she was trying to inflict strength into her voice.

He forced himself to look at her, even though every part of his body screamed at him to walk away. "Yes," he said, unclenching his teeth. Lying was best done in short sentences. Draco himself had lied many times in his life, and each lie was uttered painlessly. He hadn't cared if he hurt the person or not. Words had been just a way to win people over, or alternatively: emotionally ruin them.

Yet now, words took on a new meaning for him. Emotions, too, were now a part of his world. And when these two important concepts came together, he gained a new perspective of how things take place. For example, right now, he knew that his one word of confirmation hurt Hermione. He knew that because he had been living with her for the past couple of months, and unlike himself, Hermione made it easy for people to read her. She was like an open book – no pun intended on that hackneyed cliché.

So he looked at her head on, and acted as if he didn't care at all. She didn't cry. She didn't yell. What she did do was pull herself up straight, and push his arms away from her. A bit _too_ forcefully, Draco felt, as he stumbled toward the wall. He felt a breeze shove against him as she walked quickly (and wordlessly) away.

"Hermione," he called, as he turned around. She had reached her bedroom door.

She ignored him, and opened her door. Draco's heart was beating painfully fast by now and it was difficult to suppress the feeling. "Why are you angry?" he asked somewhat innocently, walking towards her.

Her back still turned to him, she walked into her room, closing the door in his face.

_Give up now_, a voice whispered in the back of his head. Draco knew that he should listen to it, but he didn't. He knocked on her door. "Hermione," he repeated, successfully keeping the concern out of his voice.

"_Leave_, Malfoy," she said, her voice sounding muffled through the door. It stung that she didn't sound hurt or sad. Draco didn't want her to be either of those things, but the fact that his semi-rejection hadn't emotionally affected her confused him. Her anger – which he had grown used to – was something he had braced himself for.

"Hermione, be reasonable," he said steadily, clutching the doorknob in his hand. He heard some rustling, and then music. The song was completely unfamiliar – either he had been so locked out of the wizarding world he couldn't even recognise the band, or maybe it was just a Muggle band. "Hermione," he repeated, getting tired. It wasn't that he was calling her name so many times that it tired him; it was because she wasn't replying. "You can't possibly be cross with me for being friends with you." _Please,_ he prayed. _Please let her not regret that we're friends. At least._

Without warning, her door opened. Draco fell forward because of his tight grip on her doorknob. He let go of it immediately when he noticed how physically close to her the action brought him. Before he had the chance to fully register the melted dark chocolate of her eyes – the melted colour only surfaced when she felt a really intense emotion, and Draco wagered that it was anger – she placed her tiny hands on his chest and _shoved. _Scared that she might feel the _thud thud thud_ of his heart, he moved away of his own accord, both of them aware of how futile her effort of pushing him away was.

"What was that for?" he asked quietly, when he had placed a safe distance between the two of them. He felt an uncomfortable pang in his chest when he realised that she really, sincerely didn't want him near her.

Her eyes flashed with untameable anger. "You have a few _serious_ problems, Malfoy," she spat, her eyes narrowed to thin slits.

"Sorry, what?" he asked, surprised. He hesitantly took another step backwards – she looked as if she was on a warpath.

"Starting with an identity crisis," she said between clenched teeth.

"Identity crisis," Draco echoed. Where in the bloody hell did she get that from? She nodded stiffly. "Would you care to elaborate?" he asked sarcastically.

"Malfoy, you need to decide who you want to be," she emphasised, folding her arms. At their distance, Draco wasn't able to read her properly. He could feel the waves of anger crashing his way, though. He looked at her silently, waiting for her to finish. "You cannot just simply switch between multiple polar opposite personalities!" she exclaimed. "You also cannot try to combine them!"

"What, exactly, are these so-called '_polar opposite'_ personalities?" Draco asked, interested to know the answer. He wasn't aware that he had been switching between characters.

"As if you don't know," she mocked, rolling her eyes. Draco shrugged. "The one, Malfoy, that you like to use is when you play a very ... _seductive_ kind of person," she said, not looking at him. Draco swallowed, though not visibly (hopefully). He should've known that she wouldn't be afraid to put something like that out in the open.

He nodded. "And the next one?" he asked tonelessly.

"The one you're currently employing," she said, now looking at him. "Your—" here, she waved her hands around emphatically, "—'I don't care' attitude." Draco raised his eyebrows. "Because that in itself is a lie, Malfoy. You do. You care a lot, even though you won't like to admit it sometimes."

Draco mutely regarded her. "Are you moving on to your last one soon?" he asked, after a while.

"When you act nice," she said simply.

"Act?" he repeated, getting offended. "Hermione, that's not acting."

She shook her head. "The point is that you need to decide which person you want to be. You can't be seductive, uncaring and friendly at the same time. It doesn't work, Malfoy."

He raised an eyebrow, surprised at her suggestion. "You want me to choose?"

She nodded. "Yes."

He considered his options. After a few seconds, he asked, "Which one do you prefer?"

She sighed, closing her eyes briefly. "It's what _you're_ comfortable with, Malfoy."

Draco took a step forward. "So both you and I—" he paused, absorbing his words briefly, "—We are both uncomfortable with my distant side, correct?" He was trying to walk gently on the minefield he knew he was on. She was still angry with him.

"I can't say that I like it, no," she sniffed, her eyes narrowing with every step he took closer to her. "If you value your life, stay where you are," she warned.

His lips twitched, but he knew if he were to smile, she'd throw a curse his way. He sighed. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, sighing.

"For what?" she asked, her tone clipped.

He shrugged. "I really don't know, but I get the feeling that I'm at the top of your _People I Must Kill_ list." He was genuinely sorry. He really was. He didn't know what he had done, really, that was out of the ordinary.

He saw her hands close into fists. "Don't apologise if you don't know what you've done, Malfoy," she said quietly.

"What did I do, Hermione? Besides frequently giving my personality a new look?" he asked.

Her eyes bulged, and she let out a long breath. "You _left_ after you bloody _kissed_ me!" she cried. "And you don't even think that that's a bad thing?"

"Ah, yes," he said slowly, wondering what to say next. He obviously didn't think too clearly, because his next words were, "That was a mistake."

What he meant, obviously, was the part about leaving her. She misunderstood. She didn't voice her misunderstanding, but Draco knew that she thought kissing her was the mistake. Merlin, if she knew that he wanted to spend his life kissing her... But she didn't, and she would never find that out, if he could help it.

He watched her shoulders heave up and down as she took in a deep breath. "Malfoy, choose."

"Friendly, then," he said softly, looking away. It wasn't his first choice, but it was the choice that would be best for her.

Hermione had never met a person who could be more hot and cold than Draco Malfoy. She didn't know if he acted like melted ice-cream deliberately, but what she did know was that she couldn't continue feeling so confused. His very presence caused her to feel heady but happy at the same time – and this annoyed her. Girls are known to have excellent intuitive skills, and, being a girl, Hermione felt that Malfoy was holding something back from her.

"Friendly, then," he murmured, and he looked towards the window. He was deliberately avoiding eye contact with her, and his choice somehow didn't have its desired effect on her. Of course she wanted to be friends with him. Those moments she shared with him felt so free and light, even though he really knew how to tap-dance on her nerves.

But, to her, friendship just wasn't enough. This fact surprised her because she thought that her feelings for him would disappear after she had passed through the mirror. Yet they were still there. With the same intensity. With the same degree of attachment. She still felt angry at him because she sincerely felt that he shouldn't toy with her – or anyone else. In fact, she was saving the world from a future web of confusion spun by Draco Malfoy. This was her good deed for the day.

When it came to arguments, Hermione had never been shy to voice her opinion. And, personally, she felt that Malfoy allowed her a certain leeway that he wouldn't give other people. She took a deep breath, knowing that what she said next could threaten the friendship that they had so delicately established.

She concentrated on images of happy things, absorbing courage from them, before tentatively taking a step forward. Her anger now dormant, she walked slowly toward him. She gained an iota more worth of strength with each step she took, before coming to rest a metre before him. He was still looking out of the window, but his body was still facing her, so she knew that he knew she was near him.

She didn't see him flinch, she didn't see him wince, she didn't even see him stiffen. She took strength from this observation – he had surmounted his space issues. "Malfoy," she said, her voice unwavering. She would do this. She would _not_ back down.

"Yes?" he asked softly, his gaze not moving from the night sky.

She childishly crossed her fingers behind her back. "Have your feelings for me changed?" she asked, closely monitoring his face. From the limited profile view she had of him, she watched his jaw tighten. Moving her eyes down, she noticed that he had his fists clenched, the tendons sticking out. She moved her eyes back up to his face, and blinked when she realised that he was looking at her. His eyes burned with a richness too disconcerting to describe. Up close, Hermione noticed for the third time that evening that his eye colour had returned to grey from the silver the fairytale had induced.

His face was a blank mask, perfectly composed, yet Hermione couldn't ignore the unsettling feeling that rested at the pit of her stomach. "I admit, that yes, I did feel something for you," he said, his lips hardly moving. "Something that only a person who wished to exceed the boundaries of friendship could feel." Hermione stopped breathing. What he said sounded good! It sounded pleasant! But why was he speaking without emotion? "But that was _only_ because of the fairytale, Hermione," he said slowly, as if forcing her to slowly absorb his words.

"So you don't feel anything now," she clarified, her joy dissipating as quickly as it had come. She uncrossed her fingers, her arms dangling at her sides.

"Nope," he said, the corner of his lips lifting up slightly. "But, Hermione, I really want to be your friend. You have no idea –"

"Because I still feel something," she said, cutting across him. She expected to feel lighter – like the way she usually did when she got something off her chest. But, this time, she just felt an overwhelming sense of dread and regret. Where was the point in telling him this when he had just told her he felt nothing of the sort for her?

"For me?" he asked, his eyebrows lifting in apparent surprise. Hermione also felt surprised. She thought that he had already suspected this about her.

"No, Malfoy," she said sarcastically. "I've secretly been harbouring such feelings for Gregory Goyle who's been playing the part of Prince Charming up until today." She didn't think sarcasm was appropriate for their current situation, but she couldn't help it. Really, who else could she have been talking about?

He shook his head quickly. "Hermione, you don't feel such things for me. You can't."

"You sound as if you're trying to convince yourself more than me," she commented. Hermione was determined that by the end of this night, she needed to know where the two of them stood.

He sighed, and pulled a hand through his hair. One of the strands stuck up, making Hermione itch to pat it down. Thankfully, she resisted. "No, Hermione," he said, smiling gently. "Maybe you still have a bit of the fairytale in you."

She was already shaking her head halfway through his sentence. "No, I went through that mirror, Malfoy. And it reversed _everything_," she argued.

"Then maybe it left out your emotions," he countered. "You were dead, after all."

Hermione took a step forward. "Why are you so intent on me not liking you?" she demanded.

He reached out to hold her by the shoulders. Hermione closed her eyes, and she heard him draw in a sharp breath. Realising her mistake, she opened her eyes. "You don't like me like that, Hermione," he said, bringing his head down to her level.

She narrowed her eyes. "Stop trying to convince me, Malfoy," she said, getting irritated.

"It still doesn't change the fact that I see us as friends," he said, rubbing salt into her wound.

"Thank you," she said stiffly. "I heard that loud and clear."

"Sorry," he said, shrugging, but smiling at the same time. He really did look apologetic.

Hermione nodded. "Me, too," she sighed.

"And besides," he added. "You can't even bring yourself to call me 'Draco'," he said, smiling.

_I wish I could wipe that smile off his face_, Hermione thought bitterly. Why did he have to look so bloody happy when she was clearly quite the opposite? "Just because I don't call you by your name does not mean that I don't like you." He sighed, letting his hands drop from her shoulders. "Does it mean that much to you?" she asked.

"Whatever you're comfortable with, Hermione," he said, rolling his eyes.

If he continued with this sort of lackadaisical attitude, Hermione would cease acting nice. "Do you know how incredibly idiotic you're being at the moment?"

Another smile.

Hermione's hands itched to hit him.

"How so?" he asked.

"Because I just sold my heart to you, and you've laughingly thrown it back in my face!"  
she cried indignantly.

"Oh, Hermione," he muttered, looking at her sadly.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" Catching her glare, he said, "Look, it's because I know you'll get over this soon. And we can go back to being friends."

She narrowed her eyes. "If you think you can switch me off and on just like that, you're sorely mistaken. We can't be friends, Malfoy."

His eyebrows pulled together as his forehead crinkled in confusion. His eyes blinked in surprise, and he licked his lips. "Why not?" he asked, his voice suddenly sounding strained.

She looked away from him, trying to gain composure. She mentally structured her sentences and when she was ready she took a deep breath, facing him again. "It will be awkward, Malfoy. Our friendship. Because, I will know that I like you; you will know that I like you – there will be too much tension. So, for now, let's abandon it."

It was a brave, short speech. Hermione wasn't proud of it, because she valued their relationship. Regret tangled itself in her for confessing her feelings, and it would be a long time until she could get the knot undone.

"Abandon the friendship?"

Her feet remained glued to the ground, so Hermione put all of her mental and physical strength to move them. After a stressful two seconds, she succeeded. Dragging her feet away from him, walking back towards her bedroom, she said, "Yes, Malfoy. See, now you can go back to calling me 'Granger'."

"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione," she heard him say, a mixture of sadness and frustration in his voice.

She didn't say anything. If she did, she would aggravate the situation. Just as soon as she crossed the threshold of her room, she heard a voice behind her say, "Mr Malfoy, Mrs McGonagall, we need you in my office immediately." Hermione whipped her head around. A cat patronus hovered in the air between Hermione and Draco. A few seconds after it delivered its message, it popped into thin air. Hermione stared at the spot it disappeared and found herself staring at Malfoy instead. The look he gave her made Hermione feel guilty, so she looked away. She heard his characteristic brisk footsteps as he made his way to the portrait. She followed him.

They walked down long passages, she always a few steps behind him. Not once did he look back, not once did he say anything. For this, Hermione was partly grateful and partly sad that he respected her suggestion. There were times when she opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it after realising that she was the one who initiated their fall-out.

They arrived at the gargoyle, and the two of them stood there awkwardly. "Uh...do you know the password?" she asked hesitantly, using her peripheral vision to look at him.

"No, or else we wouldn't be standing here," he replied thinly.

"Right," she said, feeling uncomfortable.

If she wanted distance, he'd give her distance. For Draco, it was easy to turn off. It was harder this time, but it was still relatively easy. He still felt attracted to her, and thought she was mental to be attracted to him. But if he avoided her, and went back to hardly talking to her, she would not have anything to like about him.

He saw her shift from foot to foot. "Right," she said, sounding uneasy. Well, she wanted this! She asked for this!

Quick footsteps behind caught his attention. He turned, and to his immense shock, saw Gladys Winter. _What is she doing here_? Draco wondered. She had her hands magically tied behind her back with rope. Following her was McGonagall, a grim expression on her face. Behind her was a group of other people in dark cloaks billowing around them in the slight breeze. The sight of these men brought back a horrible memory for Draco: the day his parents were arrested. _These must be people from the Ministry, then_, he thought. When his eyes zoomed in to look at the emblem on their cloaks – a big _M_ in blue – he raised his eyebrows. They _were_ from the Ministry of Magic, then!

McGonagall, spotting them, picked up her pace. Her wand, Draco noticed, was held out in front of her. It appeared as if she was controlling their captive. Draco glanced to his left. Hermione appeared to be in a state of shock, too. When he saw her turn to look at him, he quickly looked away.

"Ah, I see you got my patronus," McGonagall remarked.

"Professor, what's—?" Hermione began.

"In my office!" McGonagall said. She turned around and beckoned the man closest to her nearer. She bent her head close to his and said something to him. He nodded and straightening up, flicked his wand. Gladys Winter immediately walked towards him to stand at his side. The group of officials surrounded Gladys Winter. The woman didn't even look scared. She had a wild look in her eyes, and her mouth curved up into a smirk.

"Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy, follow me," she instructed. Draco wrenched his eyes from the group and followed her up the staircase after she muttered the password. He looked down as the only thing he could see in front of him was Hermione's bottom...and that sight alone was highly distracting. As soon as they got onto a flat landing, Draco breathed a silent sigh of relief.

McGonagall closed her door loudly behind them. "Please take a seat," she said, gesturing to the two chairs in front of them.

Draco took the one on the left, subtly moving it away from Hermione as he sat down. "Draco," he heard a cool voice say.

Without looking up, Draco replied, "Evening, Severus."

"Severus, now is not the time," McGonagall said quietly over her shoulder, sitting in her chair.

"So greeting my godson is not important," Severus sniffed. _How uncharacteristic and overly dramatic_, Draco thought, rolling his eyes.

"Professor, what is happening?" Hermione asked, her voice shaking. "Why is—"

"What I have to tell you is _extremely_ confidential," the professor began, looking at them both. "Extremely," she stressed. She brought her chair closer to the desk. "What we have out there...is something quite bizarre and deeply twisted."

"Professor, with all due respect..." Draco said, getting impatient.

She held up a hand. "Patience, Mr Malfoy." She glanced at the magnificent antique clock on the wall, and sighed. "I don't have much time before the full Ministry guard arrive." Draco raised his eyebrows. Just how serious was this? He pulled his chair forward. She looked at Hermione. "Now, I really was supposed to tell just you, but given the fact that Mr Malfoy is involved, he should also be informed."

"Oh, Minerva, stop beating about the bush."

McGonagall ignored Severus. Draco agreed with him.

"I need both of you to keep quiet. I do not want any disturbances. Understood?" she asked, taking a second to look at each of them.

Draco nodded.

"Yes," Hermione said, her voice a dull murmur.

McGonagall sighed again. "It seems that your current step-mother, Miss Granger, played quite an important part in the orchestration of the musical. No please, let me finish," she ordered, noticing that Hermione was about to interrupt. "We don't know much, as the Ministry only just placed her under arrest, but the gist we got from your mother, Miss Granger."

Hermione gasped. "It's...she's really my mother?"

McGonagall nodded solemnly. "It appears that she's been under a strong Imperius and has had great exposure to Polyjuice Potion."

"She's not dead," Hermione whispered. "She's not dead."

"Fortunately not. From what your mother told me when Madam Pomfrey brought her to me, since two weeks ago, Gladys Winter has placed her under the Imperius. She arrived at your house, and that was the very day your mother took leave – you father was still at his practice. Your mother didn't know who this woman was, and didn't know at all that Winter was a witch. She invited her in, but the moment she closed the door behind Winter, Winter pointed her wand at her, yelled something we can only assume to be the Imperius Curse, and from then on, your mother was forced to obey Winter."

"What was she forced to do?" Hermione asked, her voice shaking.

McGonagall levelled a look at her. "She was forced to assume the disguise of Professor Pinkle. She was forced to assume a completely new character, so that you wouldn't recognise her. She was forced to introduce the idea of a school musical, where the lead character dies."

"Hang on a second," Draco butted in. "Mrs Granger was forced to kill _Hermione_?"

"Remember that she was under the Imperius, Mr Malfoy. She couldn't help but follow Gladys Winter's orders," McGonagall said.

Draco slumped into his chair, too astounded to say anything more.

"But why?" Hermione asked.

To his bewilderment, the professor shrugged. "We don't know yet, Miss Granger. Your mother said that Gladys Winter never told her anything. She didn't substantiate her orders at all. Last week, the day the roles were announced, your mother was forced to come to this school in the disguise of Professor Pinkle. That very same day, Gladys Winter organised the supposed death of Jean Granger. She duplicated her body, placing it in your parents' bedroom. Obviously, the dummy couldn't breathe and didn't have a heartbeat, and therefore appeared to be dead."

"Professor, something doesn't make sense," Hermione said slowly, placing both hands on the table. "How could my mother see the school? She's a Muggle."

"It appears that Winter got your mother into the castle by using the Vanishing Cabinets Mr Malfoy here so cleverly fixed two years ago," McGonagall answered, pausing to look at Draco. Draco shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Once she was in the castle, she could see everything, and using a mental map Winter..._installed_ in her (for lack of a better word), she made her way around the castle."

"That doesn't make sense," Draco said, listening but not comprehending what McGonagall just told them. "Professor Pinkle has been here since the very first day of school," he pointed out. "Mrs Granger only arrived here last week."

"Excellent point, Mr Malfoy," McGonagall said. "We aren't too clear on that detail either."

"Then what, exactly, _are_ you clear about?" Draco huffed.

McGonagall raised her eyebrows, surprised at his blatant rudeness. "Mrs Granger has also been forced not to tell anyone who she really is or why she's here. That is why whenever she tried to tell you something she would choke. Furthermore, Gladys Winter played upon Mrs Granger's heart problems, too—" She was interrupted by Hermione's gasp. "Yes, Miss Granger," McGonagall said sadly. "Your mother was under constant threat that if she chose to divulge any information, she could have had a heart attack. Winter had absolute control over her. We don't know how she had control over your mother's bodily functions, but she did."

"Gladys Winter did this to my mother?" Hermione asked, her voice trembling with anger. Draco himself felt quite angry. He felt like leaving this room and giving Winter a very big piece of his mind. Hell, he would curse her if he had to. What had Hermione's mother done to deserve any of this?

"We don't know why, Miss Granger," McGonagall said gently. "But we will find out."

"When?" Hermione asked immediately.

"I was going to call her in – her guards as well – and question her. Kingsley has instructed his guards not to question her yet."

"Then call her in," Hermione said, her face twisted in anger.

McGonagall blinked. "I would rather have the two of you leave before that."

"We're involved too much to be taken out, Professor," Draco said.

"This is my _family_ that she's been toying with," Hermione said. "Please let us stay."

McGonagall heaved another sigh, looking first at Draco then Hermione. "Very well. You two stay in the corner there," she instructed, pointing to the far corner of the room – a point just next to the door. She got up and was about to leave the room when something occurred to Draco.

"Professor, how is it that she was able to tell you all of this?"

"She fell through that mirror, Mr Malfoy. The mirror reversed all the magic performed on Mrs Granger. She was no longer forced to obey Winter's command. The mirror reversed the effects of the Polyjuice Potions as well."

Draco nodded, feeling foolish for not being able to answer that question himself. McGonagall left the room.

Hermione and Draco stood up simultaneously. They walked to the corner they had been allocated and waited for McGonagall to come back. Neither said a word to each other, a palpable tension hanging heavily between them. Given their limited space, they stood just a few feet away from each other.

"Well, this looks awkward," Severus commented.

"Shut up," Draco muttered, glaring at him.

Severus feigned a hurt expression. "That's very impolite, Draco," he chastised.

"Frankly, I couldn't care less," Draco replied thinly.

"And you, Miss Granger?" Severus asked. Draco glanced at Hermione. Her head popped up at her name.

"Professor?" she asked, fidgeting with her hands.

"Do _you_ care?" he asked.

"Severus, are you feeling alright today?" Draco asked, saving Hermione the chance to answer.

"It gets quite tedious, sitting up here," he said dryly, looking around his portrait.

"Then find something to do," Draco said, turning away and examining a spot on the wall.

"Severus, there seems to be a problem between the girl and boy," said a man snootily. Draco looked around.

"You think so, Nigellus?" Severus asked, tilting his head.

"There is no problem between us," Hermione said, her voice rising.

Draco glanced at her again, noticing that she had her arms crossed over her chest. A pang pierced his chest, and he quickly looked away, not wanting to fully acknowledge that she looked quite attractive even when angered or annoyed.

"Leave them alone," a calm voice said. Draco's eyes slid to look at the old man he had been ordered to kill in sixth year. The kind-looking man's eyes swivelled to look at Draco, a small smile playing on his lips. Draco looked away, feeling guilty. How could he be so nice to him when he knew that Draco had tried to kill him?

"Now, Albus—" Severus began, but was interrupted when the door opened.

The first person to enter was Gladys Winter herself, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione's hand close around her wand. _Calm down_, he thought, knowing that she couldn't hear him. He moved so that he stood slightly before her, though not entirely blocking her view. She couldn't cause a scene. Not with Ministry officials standing right there.

"_Move, _Malfoy," she hissed in an undertone, prodding him with her wand. He ignored her. He didn't see her move, though, so by the time everyone (six people including McGonagall) had assembled in the spacious office, Hermione was no longer behind him.

"Got you two here, too, did they?" Winter sneered, looking at them over her shoulder.

Draco narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything. She couldn't do anything to them. She was outnumbered – and her wand had probably been confiscated, too. The guards shoved her roughly, forcing her down into a chair, and she grunted. "Get your filthy hands _off_ of me," she growled. "Vermin, dirt, pathetic –"

"That's enough, thank you," McGonagall said coolly. She swept a look at the guards and nodded. They all walked away, positioning themselves at various points in the room. One remained behind, standing directly behind Winter's chair. Draco looked around. All of them had their wands in their hands, ready to use them. Draco took out his wand just in case.

McGonagall pushed a glass of clear liquid towards Winter. "Drink," she ordered.

Winter cackled, thumping her leg with her hand. "You think I don't know that that's Veritaserum? What do you take me for?" she demanded, leaning forward. The guard pulled her back, gripping her shoulder tightly.

"It would be best if I don't answer that," McGonagall said. "Now, drink."

Winter shook her head, still laughing. "I don't need _that_ to tell the truth. I'm _willing_ to tell the whole _world_ the truth."

"Nevertheless, I would prefer you drink it," McGonagall said calmly.

Winter shrugged, shaking her head. "Fine," she said, licking her lips. She leaned forward, grabbing the glass. "Watch me." She threw her head back, drinking the contents of the glass. She held the glass upturned above her mouth, and the whole room watched as the last drop fell into her mouth. When she was done, she threw the glass against the wall, and it shattered. She didn't move out of her place, though. "Well, that was bitter," she commented.

If McGonagall was disturbed by Winter's demonstration of anger, she didn't show it. "First question," the professor said. "Why?"

-to be continued-

_**A/**_**N: A big THANK YOU to everybody who's been reviewing! Your reviews are simply amazing : )**

**I really hope that this chapter cleared up at least part of confusion.**


	28. A Fairytale Ending

-A FAIRYTALE ENDING-

Draco shifted forward, trying to get closer without creating a disturbance. He sensed Hermione's hesitation, but after a while she followed him. His fist tightened. _Why is she making this so hard?_ He shot a look over his shoulder at her, but she stared back adamantly. Pursing his lips, he faced forward again, and edged forward slowly. He was stopped when a big, bulky man held his arm out in front of Draco. Draco looked up at the man, surprised, but he made no indication of allowing Draco to take another step.

"Why?" Winter repeated, sounding as if she couldn't believe McGonagall could ask such a stupid question. "_Why? _Because of _filth_ like them!" She stood up suddenly, turning around, and pointed an elegant finger at Hermione. Her finger was shaking.

Again, Draco felt the urge to protect Hermione, but he swallowed it down. There were five other Aurors in this room. A mere seventeen-year-old wizard couldn't do anything more. Still, he shifted in his place, uncomfortable. Even as he thought this, he watched the Auror next to Winter roughly shove her back down, and jostled her into her chair. She stiffened, probably hating the fact that he had his hands on her.

"I see," McGonagall commented quietly.

Draco watched as Winter leaned forward, her hands gripping the arms of the chair. "No, you _don't_," she snarled. "You accept hundreds of Mudbloods into this pathetic excuse for a wizarding school!"

McGonagall's lips twitched. A dull murmuring fell from the mouths of the previous headmasters. Draco's hands itched to slap the woman sitting a few feet from him, but he fed on his self-restraint.

"So that's what this is about," McGonagall said. When Winter didn't reply, and continued to struggle out of the strong grip the Auror had on her, McGonagall said, "You still haven't told us why."

Winter sighed then, the wisps of hair that had gotten loose during her struggling blew out in front of her. She sat up straight in her chair, crossing one leg over the other – the image of an upper class woman. She bent her head, examining her nails. "It all started a few months ago, when news of the Malfoys' arrests hit the papers." Draco clenched his jaw, unknowingly balling his hands into fists. "Our numbers were quickly falling. Every time one of us – Death Eaters, that is – glanced at the paper, a new arrest had been made. We felt scared; we felt _vulnerable_."

A thick silence hung in the air, as each person hung onto Winter's regret-coloured words. Even Draco, who had his mind fixed on the possible direction her monologue was going in, kept his mouth shut. He became aware of Hermione's quick, almost shallow breathing, and tried to tune her out. Ignoring anything to do with Hermione had always been unsuccessful.

"I hadn't been in the Dark Lord's inner circle – I wasn't that important," Winter continued, now flipping her hand over to examine the lines on her palm. "I wasn't allowed to make the important, public appearances. The times when Potter was caught, the time when Hogwarts was surrounded by Death Eaters...those were the times when only _his_ inner circle was there. But I didn't mind...Since the Dark Lord's rebirth, he had me positioned in various places: Nigeria, New Zealand, Russia, Brazil...Death Eaters like myself had the task of infiltrating international Ministries of Magic." Her voice hadn't lost its bitterness.

"And then," she said, her tone turning sombre, "we heard of the Dark Lord's fall...his death. We _felt_ it. This mark on my arm," she said, pulling aside her robe to reveal the faded mark, "it began to sting. I watched with horror as the skin around it glowed red. The Mark...it started to crack – as if pulling apart to create puzzle pieces. The pain was unbearable, and none of us – the ones far away from England – could understand it."

Draco closed his eyes, not being able to stop the flash of images that erupted before him. He had once read somewhere that it was impossible to remember pain on the level it had occurred, but even now, he felt his skin (where the Dark Mark was) tingle. He didn't know if it was his imagination or not, but he thought he saw Hermione's hand reach for him.

"Within minutes, the skin meshed back together, but the Mark had faded. I didn't know what had happened, so I Apparated back to England. The Dark Lord...he had this place in Little Hangleton where he held emergency meetings. When I got there, I wasn't the only one. We stood there waiting for hours, until we received word that the Dark Lord had...died." Draco watched as her thin, long fingers bent to dig into her palms. Her fists were tiny, and they were shaking. "He had been murdered by the half-blood _Potter_," she spat. "More than half of our army had been killed by impure _filth_, by traitors.

"As I said, arrests were becoming more and more popular, great advertisements sprawled across double pages in the newspapers. A month ago, I began to take action. I had a feeling that it was only a matter of time before they traced down those in the Outer Circle. That _Mudblood_'s photograph," she said, swivelling her head around to glare at Hermione, "was everywhere. Along with those other two. I formulated a plan, and told no one about it."

McGonagall was gazing pityingly at Winter. "What was this plan?" she asked, a tremor in her voice.

Draco observed Winter's face carefully. Her mouth curled up into a smirk. "A brilliant one."

"It can't have been so brilliant if you've been caught," Draco couldn't help but saying.

She snarled, whipping her head around to face him. The Auror clamped his hand around her shoulder, restraining her. Her face altered completely, and it was almost unrecognisable. She looked cruel.

McGonagall shot an impatient look at Draco, and Draco shrugged. "We're running out of time," she said quickly. "Tell us, briefly, what your plan was," she ordered Winter.

Winter resignedly turned back to face her. "I planned on marrying the Mudblood's father, to elevate my position."

Hermione gasped, but Draco heard her clap a hand over her mouth.

"You mean Mr Granger?" McGonagall asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Of course Mr _Granger_," Winter bit out, disgust oozing from her voice. "He is the father of the most well-known Mudblood. If I married him – which I did – the Ministry would think that I had gotten over my prejudices. I could have easily told them I had been under the Imperius to join the Dark Lord's army."

"Speaking of Imperiuses," McGonagall said, pouncing on the word, "how did you manage to control Mr and Mrs Granger?"

Winter's shoulders lifted up as she laughed. Her laugh was not melodious like Hermione's – nothing even close to Hermione's. It lacked warmth, sincerity and flow. It was more like a bark. "That was the easiest part of the whole thing. Muggles are unbelievably easy to walk over. Mrs Granger was effortless. I had been spying on the couple for the previous month – figuring out their routine, their lifestyle, and one afternoon, when Mr Granger was at work, I Imperiused the woman. Over and done with; and after that, I had her wrapped around my little finger." As if to demonstrate her point, she held up her hand, crooking her little finger.

"She 'died'. The poor old man couldn't contain his grief. One night, when this Mudblood and that traitor arrived at the house," she said, jabbing her finger behind her at Draco and Hermione, "I took action. I hadn't planned for their arrival – in fact, it was a bloody thorn in my side. But I had delayed for too long, and if I didn't execute the plan that night, it would be pointless trying to do so after. When I was sure that the Mudblood and Malfoy were asleep, I took out a packet of biscuits that had Amortentia in them, emptied them on a plate, and made it appear on Mr Granger's bedside table. He was sure to eat it.

"Of course, he fell in love with me instantly. So much so, that he wanted to marry me. He was none the wiser. The Ministry hadn't called on me yet, but I couldn't take risks," she continued. She cracked her neck from side to side.

"And what about the post of Muggle Studies professor?" McGonagall asked, her face a blank mask.

Winter grinned, her white teeth glinting in the candlelight. "In Little Hangleton the night of the Dark Lord's death, I had decided that I would execute the plan the Dark Lord really wanted: a world devoid of Mudbloods and Muggles. I, in the disguise of a Muggle I murdered – Winona Pinkle – took up a post at Hogwarts. The Muggle Studies teacher. I knew shit about the bloody subject, but I had done my research. However, when I couldn't teach here _and_ watch the Grangers, I involved Mrs Granger. Of course," Winter laughed, "she had to oblige when I forced her to take the position. She got a bit hard to handle when I told her she had to murder her own daughter – but, really, the fool had no choice."

"Why? Why would you want to kill Miss Granger?" McGonagall asked, her eyes flickering towards Hermione.

"Simple," Winter replied smoothly. "To warn other Mudbloods. If they knew that the most influential Mudblood had been murdered, and by the people in Hogwarts, they would feel scared, unprotected. I wouldn't have stopped at Granger. I would have started murdering other Mudbloods in the school, as well. A fairytale..." she laughed again. "It seemed apt."

McGonagall glanced at the clock again, her lips tightening. Her eyes darted to her door. "The fairytale idea was your own?"

"Obviously," Winter snorted indelicately. "I had everything made at the Granger house. I had done frequent checks on Mrs Granger, so when I checked on her last week, I brought with me the ball used for selecting names and roles."

"And you used the Vanishing Cabinets?" McGonagall asked. Draco's gut twisted. If he hadn't fixed that...this school could have been saved from a lot of trouble. This year, and the years before that.

"Yes," Winter said, evidently proud of herself.

"I see," McGonagall said, rising from her chair. "Last question, how did Mrs Granger know the words to the Killing Curse?"

Winter grinned wickedly. "Because when she tried to defy my orders, I would show her how serious I was. I murdered their Muggle servants in front of her. She knew she would be next."

McGonagall waved her wand, and Draco saw Winter flinch. When nothing happened, she relaxed.

"So what happens now?" Winter asked, stretching her legs.

When there was a knock on the door, Winter was roughly hoisted to her feet by the Auror closest to her.

"Come in," McGonagall called.

The door opened, and there stood the Minister for Magic himself. "Thank you, Minerva," Kingsley intoned in his deep voice. "If that is all..."

McGonagall nodded. "Take her, Kingsley. Did the guards at Azkaban contact you yet?"

Kingsley nodded, his mouth pulling down on one side as he looked at Winter. "Yes, there is a vacant cell there. Goodnight," he said, nodding at McGonagall. He walked out of the office, his Aurors following him. Gladys Winter hadn't said a word throughout the entire exchange, but she could be heard muttering below her breath.

She was dragged forward by one of the Aurors. She turned to glare at Hermione. "You haven't seen the last of me," she said, her eyes flashing ominously. The Auror, clearly annoyed, jerked her forward, so that they left the office.

A soft murmuring ensued, and Draco realised that there were just the three of them left in the office: Hermione, McGonagall, and himself. The Headmasters all exchanged thoughts and opinions, but Draco couldn't hear any of it. He still was thinking of one thing.

"Professor," he said. "Could you excuse me for a minute?"

"You're free to go wherever you want, Mr Malfoy," she replied. "As long as it is within the school borders."

He nodded, and hurried out of the office.

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall called, when she saw that Hermione was about to follow him. "I need you to stay for just a few minutes."

Hermione hesitated, and then nodded. She walked forward, folding her hands into each other. She sat on the chair that winter hadn't been using.

"You've been quiet," the Headmistress observed.

"I'm just thinking, Professor," Hermione replied softly. It took a lot of self-control to squash down all her anger into a tiny ball. But how she wished to toss that ball at Winter! She couldn't believe the lengths Winter had gone to in order to achieve this outcome. Or, at least, the possible outcome of Hermione's death.

The professor offered a small smile. "I know that you have been through a lot this evening, Miss Granger, and you probably want to seek the comfort of your bed. But I need to tell you something," she said, the crispness of her voice falling away.

Honestly, though, Hermione couldn't sleep even if she tried. Her mind was too abuzz with thoughts. Yet, she straightened up, and looked at the woman in front of her. "Professor?"

"Your mother is in the Hospital Wing. She has taken a very strong Sleeping Draught, and will only wake up tomorrow – or rather today—" Hermione glanced at the clock. Two in the morning. "—Later on today. Your parents have both been exposed to the worst kinds of magic our world has to offer. Your father has faced unnecessary grief over the apparent loss of your mother, and your mother has had her mind violated," Professor McGonagall intoned, sincerity evident in her eyes. "We could get their memories modified, so that they don't remember what occurred."

Hermione thought about it. "There have been moments in my life – big moments – that I wish I could erase or forget," she said slowly. "I wish that I could forget the pain that was caused. But, that pain and those experiences...they made me stronger." She hadn't realised she had been looking down at her hands until she brought her head up to look at the professor. "I'm not saying that what happened will _help_ my parents in any way. But I think that my courage comes from both of them. They wouldn't _want_ to forget this, because it is something that affected my family as a whole. I hate the fact that they faced pain because of me...If I wasn't a witch, they wouldn't be exposed to this world...But at least..." Hermione didn't know how to voice the words she wanted to say.

"I know," Professor McGonagall said, smiling softly.

Hermione smiled back in gratitude. "I'll ask my parents, Professor, but I'm sure they wouldn't want to forget."

"Alright," Professor McGonagall said, nodding her head.

"My father, Professor?" Hermione asked, after a while.

"He's at home—"

"By himself?" Hermione yelped, standing up involuntarily,

"There are a few Aurors outside your house, Miss Granger. From now on, your parents will be under protection."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, sinking back into her chair. "Thank you," she said sincerely.

"Not a problem," the professor said.

Hermione got up to go, taking it as a dismissal, but was stopped when the professor called her back. "Miss Granger?"

Hermione turned around. "Yes?"

"Forgive me for asking, but what is happening between Mr Malfoy and you?"

Hermione's heart leapt. She swallowed. "Nothing, Professor," she murmured. "Nothing at all."

Draco raced to catch up with the departing group. "Wait," he called, still running. They were outside McGonagall's office now, just before the gargoyle. The whole part stopped. "Wait," he said again. When he had gotten closer, he noticed that the Aurors were looking at him with narrowed eyes. "I just need to ask Winter something," Draco said.

"Very well," Kingsley Shacklebolt said. The group divided, and out stepped Winter from the middle, an Auror's hand on her shoulder.

"Ask," she said, her voice light. Draco felt surprised that she didn't seem to care that she was going to Azkaban. She had murdered, intruded, attempted to murder, connive...there were a lot of things against her, yet she still looked calm.

"The fairytale – the ball –" Draco said quickly, his words toppling over each other.

"I knew you would ask," she said, the trace of a smirk on her face.

He narrowed his eyes. "Is it possible to reverse the spell?" he asked, stepping forward.

She raised her eyebrows. "What spell?" she asked, genuine surprise in her voice.

"The one that is still on Hermione and myself," Draco said impatiently.

"_Which_ one?" she asked, tilting her head.

Draco looked around them, uncomfortably aware of all the attention. "The one that makes us feel infatuated with each other," he muttered, now trying to speak more softly – as if the Aurors and the Minister couldn't hear him.

"And you've already been through the mirror that I stupidly devised?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered.

She laughed. "Draco, Draco, Draco," she said, in the same mocking tone Greengrass liked to employ. "You're in love with her."

Draco's pulse quickened. "Love?" he said, trying to scoff. "That doesn't exist."

"Prince Charming fell in love with Snow White, didn't he?" she challenged.

"And so?"

"My ball, Malfoy, picks the ones that are _meant_ to be chosen. It didn't pick you to be Granger's beloved because of your acting skills, or because you can sing. It picked you because you are a perfect match for her." She leaned forward. "And even if you don't believe in love, one day you will realise it."

Draco felt Stupified. "So," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. "So, Hermione...?"

"She's in love with you, too. She might not know it, but she is. It's not because of the fairytale anymore, Malfoy. The fairytale merely quickened the process, your realisation, whatever," she said, rolling her eyes. "So you can thank me, if you want. You could have fallen in love with her without even realising it and your life could have just passed before your eyes."

"I'm not _in love_ with her," he bit out, clenching his teeth. Love didn't exist.

She smiled. She turned to the Aurors around her. "Let's go, boys," she said.

They had just turned around the corner, when he heard the gargoyle slide against the wall as it opened. Hermione stepped out. "Oh, it's you," she said.

He turned to face her. He searched her face for any signs of love, or something close to it. He started at her eyes, but she had only worry there. He followed the line of her nose to her mouth. Her lips didn't part as if she wanted him. They didn't even move. He saw a muscle jump in her jaw. He raised his eyes to hers once more. They were shining. The richness of her eyes drew him in, but he looked away.

He started walking. She followed.

"I didn't mean for you to ignore me, Malfoy," she said, sounding exasperated.

He didn't say anything. He lengthened his strides, hoping to get away from her. She couldn't be in love with him – she couldn't even be infatuated with him. He wouldn't allow it. He wasn't good for her. He hurried up the stairs, not caring that she was calling him. Guilt invaded his mind, but he pushed it away.

"Malfoy!" she yelled from behind him.

He whirled around. "Shut up," he hissed, glancing around them. "You're going to wake the whole bloody castle up."

She took advantage of the fact that he had stopped and caught up with him. He began his brisk pace again. Annoyance flashed through her as she tried to catch up with him. They were on their corridor now. She called upon all the dormant energy in her body and forced it into her steps. She was next to him now, and he was ignoring her.

Hurt bubbled in her, and she felt the heat flood into her cheeks. He muttered the password and stepped inside, almost closing the portrait door in her face. She narrowed her eyes, and pushed it open. "Stop!" she shouted, once she shut the door behind her.

He did stop. But he didn't turn around.

"I only said that we shouldn't be friends because I can't switch on and off like you do. Malfoy, you _know_ how I feel. Don't you think that I _want_ us to be friends? It's you that's the problem—" she said, but was cut off by his abrupt rigidity in his body. He spun around and stalked towards her. He grabbed her by the shoulders, but not roughly. Very gently.

He stared intently into her eyes, and she felt herself shake under his silver-eyes gaze. "_I'm_ the problem?" he repeated quietly, agitation rough in his voice. "Hermione, _we're_ the problem! I switch on and off because I can't admit to myself or to you what I feel!"

"What?" she asked softly, biting her lower lip.

His hands slipped from her shoulders, trailing down her arms. She felt a flip-flop sensation in her stomach. "I asked Winter about the fairytale, Hermione. What you feel for me is _real_. What I feel for you is _real_." He looked away from her, shutting his eyes tightly. It looked as if he was in immense pain. She reached out to touch his chest, but he grabbed her hand in his, holding it gently. "I lied," he admitted, looking back at her. "I lied because we can't work. _We can't work_," he stressed.

"Why not?" she asked. She felt elated that he seemed to return her feelings, but the elation was negated by her sadness. Why did he want to pull away?

"I'm not good for you, Hermione," he murmured, his voice shaking.

Hermione reached up hesitantly to touch his cheek. He flinched, but she didn't withdraw her hand. She felt his teeth clench. He reached up to pull her hand away, but ended up resting his hand on hers. "You can't keep saving me," he said softly, looking down.

She stared wide-eyed at him. "Malfoy...I haven't saved you."

"You _have_. Over and over and over..." he trailed off, squeezing her hand gently.

She shook her head, and stepped closer. "I haven't. I offered advice, Malfoy. Whatever changes you went through...that was all you. No one can change you, Malfoy. Finding yourself, finding out who you really are – that's a self-thing. And now...now, you are fine. You don't have to be afraid. You don't have to doubt yourself." She tried to make him believe her, but Hermione could feel his resistance. "Look at me," she ordered. When he wouldn't budge, she said, 'Draco.' His eyes snapped to hers, the corner of his lips twitching. She smiled. "Do not doubt yourself," she said, determination flowing freely through her words.

He opened his mouth to object, but Hermione glared at him. She brought her other hand up to rest on his other cheek. She stared into his eyes. "You are an amazing person, Mal-Draco. You dig to the core of your heart, to bring up a sincerity and passion so raw that it can be overwhelming. You are not a bad person, okay? I know bad people..._you_ know bad people, and Draco, you would be insulting yourself if you compare yourself to them."

"It is hard," he said quietly.

"What is? Everyone has obstacles to overcome. It just so happens that some people have more obstacles to overcome than others – and you're one of those people."

He took a moment to gather his thoughts. "I can't just stop thinking about it, Hermione. It's a constant worry."

"I'm not telling you to ignore it. Draco," she said, her hands feeling warm on his face, "I'm telling you to accept it and move on."

He expelled a deep sigh that blew across Hermione's face. She closed her eyes. Before she realised it, he pulled her to him, his arms resting around her. His fingers trailed slowly through her hair. She opened her eyes, about to say something, but couldn't get the words passed the lump in her throat. They stayed like that for a while, each revelling in the intimate embrace they shared. "You always know what to say," he whispered.

She smiled into his shirt, enjoying the way her head rested on his chest. She relaxed, and put her arms around him. "And you don't always know how to react," she said back. Her heart had picked up its beat quite dramatically, and her body began to feel really warm.

His hand stilled in her hair. "Meaning?" he asked, trepidation entering his voice.

She tightened her embrace. "You really should be kissing me now instead of hugging me," she teased.

He laughed softly into her hair. "I really like you, Hermione Granger," he said huskily. He sounded content.

She pulled away from him, to look up at him. "I really like you, too," she said, smiling.

His eyes had turned a sparkly silver that unnerved Hermione – in a good way. He brought his head down, and she raised herself on her tiptoes, leaning against him for support. Her breathing quickened.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he warned, a gentle smile pulling at his lips.

"Don't run away," were her last words, before his lips covered hers.

-the end-

_**A/**_**N: So that's it, folks! It's been a really long journey, and I've enjoyed every second of it. Thank you for sharing it with me, and making it seem all the more fun : ) I especially appreciate all of your comments – your dedication to the story, your appreciation of my writing, your criticism. Basically, every single aspect of your comments. I don't know if you'll believe this, but: I love you guys : ) **


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